


Genesis

by TeamFreeWill30



Series: Genesis [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Team Free Will, Team Free Will 3.0, Winchester - Freeform, tfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamFreeWill30/pseuds/TeamFreeWill30
Summary: After an attempt to track down Lucifer takes a turn for the worse, the Winchester brothers vow to do whatever it takes to stop the devil. Once and for all.Season 13 AU, set after 13x19





	Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Supernatural (If I did Destiel would have been canon 57 seasons ago) 
> 
> Please add comments, opinions, etc.! Your opinion is appreciated. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

The rusted metal door slammed open, kicking up dust. Two figures stepped through the doorway and into the seemingly empty warehouse- Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel, both brandishing shiny Angel Blades. They exchanged a look and started walking through the warehouse. The whole building was dark, save for the light spilling from the door they had just kicked in. Dust covered every inch of the place. And it smelled like death. 

 

Something in Dean’s gut told him this was a bad idea, that something was going to happen if they continued into this warehouse. Then again, he had that feeling all the time, and he ignored it as he usually did. Still, it took quite a bit of effort to not sprint like hell out of that warehouse. The hunter and the angel decided to split up (despite Dean’s instincts once again screaming at him not to) and began to search cautiously through the rooms, looking for someone, anyone. There were at least five rooms, each of them dark and deserted. There were no objects in them, no people, nothing that could tell them anything about who they were looking for. All that either of them could see was dust. The trip had been a bust, as usual. After searching diligently through each room, the angel and the hunter reconvened in the first room they had entered together.

 

“I thought your contact was reliable,” Dean said. 

 

“I did too, but he clearly isn’t here.”

 

“Son of a bitch.” 

 

“We searched every room?” The angel asked. 

 

“I think so, but I didn’t see anything other than dust.” 

 

Cas sighed. “We’d better go then, we shouldn’t waste time.”

 

Dean shook his head, then started towards the door, Castiel following behind him. 

 

“I was just so sure this was it, now we’ve got nothing.” The hunter muttered. It was beyond frustrating. They needed to get to Lucifer before anything happened, but they had no leads, no ideas, no plan. Back to square one. Of course, this wasn’t out of the ordinary. Things rarely worked out for them, especially when it came to the devil. Every time they had him close, Lucifer seemed to slip right through their fingers.

 

“Dean?” The hunter whipped around at the sound of the angel calling his name. 

 

The good news was, they had found Lucifer. The Archangel stood in the open entryway, a smug grin on his face, one arm wrapped around the angel, the other holding his blade to Cas’ throat. Dean started towards the devil, seething. He lifted his blade. “If you touch him, I swear to God-”

 

“Not another step,” Lucifer hissed, pressing his blade into the angel’s throat. 

 

Dean stopped mid-step, glaring at the archangel. He felt demons materialize behind him, and saw a couple more out of the corner of his eye. Five of them, at his best guess - an ambush.  _ Son of a bitch. _

 

“Drop your blade,” The archangel commanded. 

 

Dean clenched his jaw, hesitating a moment, unsure of what to do. He could get to Lucifer in time, but with the demons behind him and Cas an inch away from a blade to the neck, he didn’t want to take any chances. He sighed, dropping his blade. He heard it clatter to the floor as he felt the demons behind him move to restrain him. The hunter let them, his eyes locked on Lucifer. 

 

“Dean-” Cas started.

 

“We’ll figure a way out of this, Cas. I’m not taking any chances.” The hunter interrupted, keeping his expression still, his eyes cold and calm. Dean couldn’t lose the angel, not again.

 

Lucifer let out a small laugh. “Not this time.” He said, pressing the blade harder to the angel’s neck. Before Dean could realize what was happening, the devil ran the blade along Castiel’s throat, and vanished into thin air. The angel dropped to the floor, his body hitting the hard concrete with a morbid thud.

 

“Cas!” Dean screamed, whipping around to free himself from the demon holding him back. He turned around and punched the demon, knocking him down. He scrambled for the demon’s blade and quickly ran him through. He looked up to see the other four demons on him. He stabbed the one in front of him, then turned and stabbed the one behind him. The other two soon realized their fate, and left the bodies they were possessing, disappearing into the sky with a black smoke. Dean dove towards the angel, who was lying on the floor of the warehouse, blood pooling around him. 

 

“Cas, Cas! Come on, stay with me.” The hunter muttered desperately, his voice barely working. 

 

“Dean-” 

 

Why did he have to say it like that? Like it would be his last time, like he was barely holding on, like all the weight of the world came in that one word.

 

“Cas, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay. We- we can save you-” Dean said, his voice cracking and shaking. 

 

“Dean, I-I love you.” The angel whispered with the last of his strength, his dying breath, his final words. 

 

“No, no, Cas please, please…” The hunter begged as he watched the light fade from Castiel’s bright blue eyes. He let out a sob and gripped the angel’s trench coat, his blood soaked knuckles turning white.

 

Dean had heard the angel say those words before, but never directed to him and him alone.  He had never heard those words while he cradled Cas’ head in his lap, watching as the angel’s blood pooled to the floor of the dirty warehouse, never with such desperation, such sorrow, such weight. Never as his dying words.

 

“Cas, please…” He whispered, feeling tears flowing, thick and hot, down his face. He watched as they fell to the floor, mixing with the blood pooled around his feet. 

 

Dean didn’t move for awhile. He stayed in that warehouse, sobbing over the angel’s broken body, begging and praying to a God he knew wasn’t there. By the time he stepped outside, the sun had set, leaving the world to darkness. 

 

He burned the body himself, a hunter's funeral. The angel always did love the idea of being a hunter. Dean remembered the smile on Castiel’s face when he started his first case, the glimmer in his eyes at the prospect of saving people and hunting things, just like the Winchesters.

 

Dean didn’t call his brother for while. He needed time. Time to think about what happened, time to drink, time to replay those words. Those three words, Dean knew, would haunt him for the rest of his life. They echoed through his head and stuck there. Dean couldn’t stop hearing the angel’s cracked, broken, desperate voice. It made him want to scream, but instead he just cried and drank and replayed those words. Cas always did have shitty timing.

 

***

 

Sam had been trying to find the archangel Gabriel, who they had (quite inconveniently) lost track of. He had tracked the archangel down to somewhere in Idaho, but had lost the scent. When his phone started ringing as he sped down the highway, a sense of foreboding washed over him. He glanced down at it and saw that it was his brother. Any other time, he would have let it roll to voicemail. Not this time, though; he figured road safety wasn’t as important as the devil himself. He clicked the accept button and turned his phone to speaker. 

 

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?” 

 

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s voice came through the phone in answer. 

 

“Dean, what- are you okay?” 

 

“No.” There it was again, that pain in his voice. 

 

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

 

There was a pause for a moment. Sam waited patiently for his brother to answer, growing more worried with every second. 

 

Dean took a shuddering breath, and his voice grew low. “It was an ambush. Somehow, Lucifer knew we would be there, and I- I should have known, I should have been prepared but I wasn’t and now Cas-“ 

 

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Dean-“ 

 

“He killed him, Sam.” His voice was broken, shaking, on the verge of tears. “Lucifer killed him.” 

 

No, no, that couldn’t be true. That wasn’t  _ possible _ , not after everything that had happened, not after everything they had been through. They had been so close to finding Lucifer and- and he had just taken everything from them again. Sam wasn’t the type to get angry, but this news had him seething. He had had to live with the horror of Lucifer for nine years. He had had to carry the weight of the world on his back that whole time because he was the reason Lucifer was free, he was the reason so many people were dead, he was the dumb kid who had loosed the devil on the world. He carried that burden every day, and an extra 150 pounds of angel corpse didn’t help.

 

There was only silence for a minute, as Dean tried to collect himself and Sam tried to process what his brother had just told him. “Are you sure-“ 

 

“Yes, Sam!” Dean yelled. “Of course I’m sure. I-I burned his body myself.” His voice grew low. “I watched him bleed out on the floor of a warehouse, I saw his wings seared into the floor underneath him. I saw Lucifer slit his goddamn throat while I just sat back and watched.” Sam couldn’t see it, but his brother was crying at this point.

 

Sam bit his bottom lip, his mouth shaking. “Meet me at the bunker. I’m a few days away, so I’ll be there a little while after you.” 

 

“Okay, I’ll see you there Sammy.” Dean’s voice was low and hoarse, barely a whisper. 

 

He hung up, leaving Sam to drive through the dark, silent night.

 

***

 

Sam finally got back to the bunker after a few days of long driving and coffee as a substitute for sleep. He unlocked the door and stepped through the entryway, making his way down the stairs connected to it. He set his bags down on the library table and walked through the bunker hallway, finally stopping at Dean’s room. 

 

He knocked softly on the door, but heard no answer. He gently pushed the door open, letting it swing into the room. He glanced into the room to see his brother sitting on his bed, resting against the headboard, looking down so Sam couldn’t see his face. He was wearing headphones, Sam could see, which were attached to a mixtape. The same one Dean had given Cas years ago, Sam recognized. Sam also noticed his brother’s knuckles were bruised and bloody. Half-dried blood was running down his arm in a thin line. The younger Winchester turned, glancing around the room. In the corner there were pieces of shattered glass scattered over the carpet. There were also pieces of splintered wood on the floor, next to the corner of Dean’s desk. 

 

“Hey Dean,” Sam said, sitting on the edge of the bed, his voice soft and low. 

 

Dean took his headphones off, but didn’t say anything. 

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“What do you think?” Dean asked. Sam was taken aback by the venom in his voice. 

 

“Do you wanna talk or-”

 

“No.” 

 

“Dean, you can’t just-”

 

“I could have stopped him, Sam.” Dean looked up, and for the first time Sam saw how truly broken his brother’s face was; his eyes were hollow, his cheek was bruised from his fight with Lucifer. Sam thought it was strange that he would be bruised, usually they weren’t after their fights. Then he recalled that was because Castiel usually healed them afterwards. “I could have stopped Lucifer, but I-I didn’t and it’s my fault-“ 

 

“It’s not your fault.” Sam said, his voice soft and comforting. 

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“Dean, you can’t possibly blame yourself for-“ 

 

“Get out.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“You heard me. I don’t want to hear all this sappy bullshit about how it’s not my fault or about how everything will be okay. Here are the facts: Cas is dead and it’s my fault. Nothing you say is going to change that.” 

 

Sam didn’t try to argue, he only nodded and stepped through the open doorway, leaving the room and slamming the door shut. He knew what his brother needed. He knew Dean would want time to process everything. 

 

Dean put his headphones on again, listening to the sudden blast of guitar in his ears. He took another swig of his beer, staring vacantly at the door. He closed his eyes briefly, wanting to sleep, or wanting to wake up and realize this was all a nightmare. But it wasn’t, and he knew if he slept he would only have worse nightmares. 

 

***

 

It had been two days since Sam had gotten back to the bunker, and Dean still hadn’t said a word to him or left his room since their last conversation. Sam walked cautiously towards his brothers room, carrying the lunch he had brought Dean: a bacon cheeseburger with fries. Normally, Sam would have scolded Dean about eating such crappy food, but he didn’t want to push it right now. He stopped in front of Dean’s room, and knocked on the door, not expecting an answer. He didn’t get one, so he just opened the door and stepped in, expecting to see his brother in the same position he had been in the past few days: sitting on his bed, listening to the mixtape, and drinking beer. Instead, when Sam stepped through the door, he saw Dean sitting on the floor, surrounded by books, bending over a particularly hefty one. 

 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam asked cautiously, setting the plate he was carrying on the desk in the corner. 

 

“What’s it look like?” Dean asked, his voice husky from lack of use over the last few days, not looking up from his book, “Research.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because I’m not letting anyone else die because of Lucifer. We need to find another way to get rid of him. For good.” His voice was thick with grief. 

 

Sam was expecting this. Dean wasn’t the type to go down without a fight; he would do everything he could to get his revenge as quickly as he could.

 

“Okay. I’ll help you.” Sam said plainly. 

 

Dean looked up from his book, surprised. “Really? No- no lecture about how we need to do this the smart way or how we shouldn’t go after revenge?”

 

“Listen, Dean, if this is what you need to get your mind off of…” He hesitated, “Everything, then I’m here for you. We’ll look through these books for as long as it takes.”

 

“Good.” Dean tossed a book to his brother. “Let's get crackin” 

 

***

 

Sam woke up the next morning and made breakfast, cooking eggs and thinking about everything that had happened, trying to come up with an idea to help his brother. He wanted just as badly as Dean to get rid of Lucifer for good. He had caused them too much pain, too much loss. Dean wasn’t the only one who had a personal grievance with the archangel. Not after Lucifer had spent so long torturing Sam, not after all the people they had lost because of him. Sam could still compare his pain to Dean’s, of course, because he had not been told the angel’s last words. He had not seen the way his brother had held Castiel’s dead body and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t watched the flames engulf the former angel. And he hadn’t seen Dean tear a piece of Castiel’s trenchcoat off and stuff it in his pocket for safekeeping, before he threw his match into the funeral pyre, watching the flames dance as he made a silent promise to do whatever it took to stop Lucifer. That was the key phrase, though, wasn’t it?  _ Whatever it took. _ Sam put two eggs on a plate and brought it to Dean’s room. He knocked on the door and heard no answer, so he pushed it open. There Dean sat, in the same position as the previous night, reading. 

 

“Hey Sammy, I think I got a lead.” He said. 

 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Sam asked, concerned. 

 

“Nope.” 

 

“I’ll drive then. Where are we headed?”

 

“Missouri,” Dean replied, tossing Sam his car keys.

 

“What’s down there?” 

 

Dean turned the book he was flipping through around, showing Sam a picture of a middle-aged woman. “A witch. Lived there since the 1800s, rumor has it she came up with a way to kill archangels. A spell.” 

 

“What are we waiting for then?” 

  
  


***

 

The house was old and falling apart. The white paint was peeling off, and there were dark green vines crawling up the side. The lawn was dead and withered, the grass brown, crunching as the Winchester brothers stepped on it. They made their way up the front porch, and stopped right in front of the door. Next to them, a rusting porch swing creaked ominously. 

 

“Why don’t witches ever live in a nice house in the suburbs or something?” Dean remarked. 

 

Sam shrugged and knocked on the door twice. As he knocked, the door came swinging in, letting out a sinister squeak. The brothers exchanged a look and walked through. They made their way through the dark house, holding their flashlights and guns stacked on top of each other. Dean pushed open a door that led into a study, entering cautiously, his little brother right behind him. He shone his flashlight through the room, looking for something, anything. The light shone on a mortar and pestle, a few dozen candles, a box of some sort, then, finally, the body slumped in the corner of the room, blood running from her mouth, her eyes burned out. 

 

“I-is that…?” Sam asked.

 

Dean’s head was pointed towards the floor, his hands covering his eyes. He took a deep breath, then let it out, turning his head back up as he did. “Dammit!” He yelled, kicking over a chair in a sudden rage. Sam flinched. 

 

“Every goddamn time we get close to something…”

 

“Dean, it’s okay. We’ll find another way. Come on, let’s think about who we could ask about something like this.”

 

“Well, let’s see. We can’t ask Crowley, he’s dead. Jack and Mom are off in apocalypse world, Michael’s probably killed them by now. Gabriel’s screwing off doing God knows what somewhere in Idaho. And Cas-“ He sighed. “But pitch in if you’ve got any ideas.” 

 

“Well, there is Rowena.” 

 

Dean groaned. 

 

“She told us she would help us if we needed her to,” Sam said. “And we know she wants Lucifer dead.” 

 

“Then again, she is an evil bitch.” 

 

“Come on, let’s just call her. Unless you have any other ideas?” 

 

“Fine. But I still don’t trust her.” 

 

“We’re agreed on that.” Sam conceded.

 

As they made their way out of the house, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Rowena. They were in the car by the time she picked up. 

 

“Hello, Dean. So nice to hear from you, and so sorry to hear about that angel of yours. My deepest condolences.” The witches voice came from the phone. 

 

Dean hesitated for a moment, then said, “We need your help with something.”

 

“What can I do for you boys?” 

 

“We need a way to kill Lucifer.” 

 

“Don’t we all?” Rowena said bitterly. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t do much for you, the only way to kill an archangel other than an Archangel Blade is the First Blade, but even if you could find it, it would be useless without the Mark of Cain.”

 

“Thanks for the recap,” Dean deadpanned. Then, after thinking for a second: “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

 

“Trust me, if I knew another way, that devil would be dead by now.”

 

“Okay, thanks for your help. If you find anything else, call us immediately.” Dean said, putting emphasis on the last word. 

 

“Will do boys. Good luck with your noble quest.” Rowena said, concluding their call.

 

The hunter hung up, and Sam looked at him. Dean’s face was tired, sullen. There were deep bags under his hollow eyes. His mouth was turned down in a frown, his lips were hard and chapped, his face still bruised.

 

“Anything?” Sam asked. 

 

Dean didn’t answer for a moment, seemingly thinking, then said: “Nothing. She’s got nothing.” He sighed. “Guess it’s back to the books.”

 

***

 

It was late. Midnight, maybe. Dean wasn’t exactly sure; he hadn’t looked at the clock in a while, and he didn’t think he wanted to. He had tried to sleep, just as he had been for the past week, but, just as they had been for the past week, his efforts were fruitless. He wasn’t getting anywhere, not with the images that flashed in his brain every time he closed his eyes: the blood, the wings, the fire burning hot and bright against the dark starless night. The images weren’t even the worst part, though. The worst part was the voices, some screaming some whispering, some begging:  _ we’ll figure a way out of this… not another step… CAS! _

 

It made him want to scream, the voices echoing sadistically in his skull. But he knew he couldn’t scream. Not with Sam sleeping soundly in the other room. So instead, he drank. He sat and drank and thought, those voice still torturing him, still screaming at him, still pounding his head with threats and pleas and dying words. The alcohol didn’t do much, but it was the only coping method Dean could think of. He tried to think over the voices, fighting through their icy cold grip on his mind. He replayed his conversation with Rowena earlier;  _ “The only way to kill an archangel is with an Archangel Blade or the Mark of Cain”  _ Why did that stick with him so much? Why couldn’t he get that out of his head? Why had those specific words resonated with him? Like Rowena had said, the Mark of Cain was gone and the Archangel Blade wouldn’t work without an archangel, which was already a lost cause: the only archangel left had gone underground. He took another swig of his drink, wincing as the voices raised their volume. He closed his eyes briefly, but of course that didn’t help: the images came back, the most prominent of them the fire, so hot and bright and all-consuming as it destroyed whatever hope Dean had left. He remembered the vow he had made, standing in front of that fire, watching with a broken face as the flames danced over the body of the somehow serene-looking angel.  _ Whatever it takes.  _ Suddenly, all at once, Dean knew what he had to do. 

 

***

 

Light flooded through Sam’s room, pouring through the windows and over his bed. His alarm screamed at him, flashing the time: 6:00 am. Dean always told him it was an “ungodly” time to wake up, but Sam was sure his brother was still awake, flipping and searching through his books, desperately hoping for even the slimmest lead. Not even bothering to change out of his pajamas or make breakfast, Sam stood up, stretched, and made his way towards Dean’s room. He was still groggy from his lack of sleep last night; despite his older brother’s obvious attempt to be quiet, Sam still heard him drinking until 2:00 am, when the bunker had gone silent. 

 

Sam stopped at Dean’s door, knocking sharply on it. He didn’t get a reply. He figured Dean was probably still sleeping, so he opened the door. He stepped into the room, ready to give Dean hell for falling asleep. 

 

But he stopped short when he realized the room was empty. 

 

Sam’s immediate reaction was to panic, but he told himself to calm down. Dean was probably just going to the bathroom or something. Despite knowing how lame of an excuse that was, that was what Sam told himself. He began to look through the room, trying not to move too frantically, searching for something that might tell him where Dean was. It was a mess, with uncleaned blades littering the floor -one of them Dean’s angel blade, which he would never go anywhere without, Sam noted- books piled on top of each other, thrown haphazardly all over the floor. Sam made his way to the bed in the middle of the room, and saw, resting on the pillow, a note, attached to the mixtape labeled  _ Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx _ . Sam picked up the note and read it, again and again, trying to make sure it wasn’t real, make sure he was dreaming, make sure he was going to wake up any second now. Alas, the sound of an alarm clock didn’t bring him out of this nightmare- the empty room was eerily silent. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, beating so hard he suspected it would explode. The note was written in what was unmistakably Dean’s handwriting:  _ Sammy, let me go _ .

 

Sam suddenly felt sick, like he was going to vomit. Panic filled every inch of his body, and he began frantically searching the room, looking for some clue, some way to find his brother. He flipped through books but found nothing. He rummaged through the dresser in the corner, throwing clothes everywhere. He searched and searched until he came across a book open to a page with a picture of the Mark of Cain on it, listing a spell to return the Mark to its previous owner. 

 

Sam could barely breathe, he could feel his heart drop down to his stomach. The world seemed to spin around him, his head pounded hard, screaming at him. Sam was rarely scared, but he was unmistakable terrified now. “Dean, what did you do?” He muttered to himself, alone and afraid in the disheveled room. 

  
  


***

 

Dean, not wanting to take the Impala with him, had found a motorcycle in the bunker. This was what he drove now as he sped down the lonely gravel road, in the midst of a long corn field. He felt like he’d been driving forever, but he’d really only been on the road for a few hours. The sun had just risen, spreading an orange glow through the fields. Sam would be awake by now, would have seen his note, was probably already looking for him. Dean tried to put his brother out of his mind. It was too late to turn back now, he thought, glancing briefly at the mark on his forearm. He tried to think of the task that lay ahead of him: finding the First Blade. Already he felt a craving to hold it, to touch it, even if only for a minute. He took a deep breath and tried to put that out of his mind too, but that proved more difficult than it had been with Sam. He tried to think of Cas, the angel he had risked everything for, who he had thrown away everything to avenge now. ( _ Everything  _ was an understatement, really, because Dean knew this ended one way: bloody. And he didn’t really care whose blood it was.) The angel, the one with piercing blue eyes unlike any Dean had ever seen before, a crooked smile that only came out occasionally, and now, not at all. He tried to picture the angel’s face, but found it difficult to focus over the thoughts of the First Blade that filled every corner of his mind.  

 

Dean drove for a while longer, and finally stopped at an old shed, rotten and crumbling, apparently unused since nine years ago, when he had first been there. Had it really been that long?  _ This is no time to get sentimental, _ he told himself. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to find the Blade. Already Dean could tell it was in the shed, he could feel the power radiating off of it. His arm, the one that bore the Mark, began to shake, and he grabbed it in an attempt to steady it, but that didn’t do much. He stepped through the open doors of the shed hesitantly. Did he really want to go through with this? Of course, he knew he had no choice. Dean couldn’t resist the Mark, and the Mark wanted the Blade, more than anything else. 

 

So he walked through the shed, running his fingers along the sigils painted on the walls, stepping around shards of glass from shattered light bulbs along the way. He walked slowly, but began to pick up his pace unwillingly as he got closer to the Blade. He found it, finally, in the corner of the barn where he had first met Castiel. Of course it was here, leave it up to Cas to be overly sentimental. The Blade was wrapped in smooth brown leather, warped with age. Dean tried to pick it up while leaving the leather on, but could already feel his self-control slipping away its presence. He greedily unwrapped the Blade, holding the bare jawbone in his hand. He turned his head down towards his forearm and saw the Mark glowing a bright orange, lighting up with the sheer strength of the Blade. Dean stood there for a moment, unable to move, consumed by the overwhelming feeling of the raw power he now possessed. It was the best feeling in the world, that power, and Dean had missed it, as unwilling as he was to admit it, even to himself. 

 

He felt his whole body shudder at the feeling, the pure ecstasy of it. He didn’t know how long he stood there, time seemed to pass differently, but finally, he mustered up enough self-control to drop the Blade. As the ancient jawbone clattered to the floor, Dean felt himself let out the breath he had been holding, dropping to the floor on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He wanted to touch it again, but he stopped himself. He stood up and quickly rewrapped the blade, tucking it into his pocket next to Cas’ trench coat. He clutched the fabric, soft and silky, reminding himself why he was there. But somewhere in the back of his mind, his motive had changed. Now, he wanted -no, needed- to kill. He needed to feel the Blade sink into the flesh of something, anything, and he needed it now. 

 

***

 

“Hello Samuel, did you and that brother of yours finally find something to kill Lucifer with, or did you just miss the melodious sound of my voice?” Rowena’s voice came through the phone.

 

Sam wasn’t in the mood for banter. “What did you do to Dean?”

 

“What?” The witch asked, offended. “I didn’t do anything... to my recollection.”

 

“Don’t play dumb with me. What did you tell my brother when he called you?”

 

“Oh, you Winchesters, always assuming the worst of people. I didn’t tell him anything of importance, simply that the only ways to kill an archangel would be an Archangel Blade and the First Blade, but you already knew that.” 

 

Sam didn’t respond for a minute. He was trying to think, trying to collect his thoughts. So it was true, Dean had gone and done it, despite everything. He ran his hand through his hair nervously, a habit he had recently developed. 

 

“Okay, great. Bye.” Sam said, and was about to hang up before Rowena said:

 

“Wait. Why did you call me? What’s happened?” 

 

Sam considered telling her for a moment, then decided against it, and hung up. 

 

***

 

The Impala zoomed down the road its owner had traveled down just a few hours ago, going as fast as it could. Unfortunately, to Sam Winchester, this wasn’t fast enough. Of course, even if he could have teleported to his destination, that wouldn’t be fast enough. He needed to find his brother, and he needed to do it now, before it was too late. It occurred to Sam that it might already be too late, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. Either way, he needed to find Dean. He had read through every page in that book he had found about the Mark, and he knew that, since Dean had possessed the Mark before, and had almost gone off the deep end, the situation could deteriorate fast, especially since no one was there to stop him. The book hadn’t described what exactly “the deep end” entailed, but Sam could guess, and he knew he couldn’t let anything happen to his brother. He was all the family Sam had left, especially now that Castiel was gone. 

 

So, even going down that dirt road at 70 miles an hour, Sam couldn’t find his brother fast enough. At least he had a lead, it was better than the last time Dean had disappeared with the Mark, when Sam had been forced to torture information out of low-level demons in a sorry attempt to track down any lead, no matter how thin it was. This time, Sam knew where Dean would go. He knew his brother needed the First Blade if he wanted any chance at killing Lucifer, and, luckily, he knew where the Blade was. Cas had told him the location of the Blade right after he had hidden it, just in case they needed it again and the angel couldn’t tell them. So that’s where Sam was headed now, the barn where his brother had first met the angel, all those years ago. He knew there was almost no chance Dean hadn’t found the Blade yet, the book said the Mark could tell when the Blade was near, and Dean knew Castiel too well. Still, it was possible Dean had made some mistake or left something behind, some way to track him. 

 

He pulled up in front of the barn and got out of the Impala, slamming the door shut. He walked through the rotting doors, his Angel Blade poised and ready to strike. He walked through the barn carefully, looking in every nook and cranny for the First Blade. But, of course, it wasn’t there. This didn’t surprise Sam, but it did frustrate him beyond belief. The clock was ticking, and he knew he didn’t have much time to find Dean before, well, before everything went to hell. Sam was turning to leave when he found something on the floor; a necklace. Well, an amulet, to be precise. At least, a copy of an amulet.  _ A symbol of brotherly love _ , the girl who had given it to Dean had called it. Sam hadn’t realized it was missing from the Impala, where it usually stayed attached to the rearview mirror. Dean must have taken it with him, but it had been discarded in his quest for the Blade. He knelt down and picked it up, flipping it over in his hand, and stood up, starting to leave. 

 

“Was that your brother’s?” The Scottish accent that came from behind startled Sam, and on instinct he turned around, his blade poised, ready for a fight. 

 

The red-headed witch scoffed. “You really think that’ll kill me?” 

 

“Rowena, how the hell did you find me?” 

 

“After our last encounter, you didn’t think I would put a tracking spell on you? You’re even dumber than you look. Now I see why my son called you Moose.” 

 

“What do you want?” 

 

“Well, you ended our previous discussion rather abruptly. And quite rudely, I may add. So I followed you to see what the hell was going on with you and your brother.” The witch explained. 

 

“Nothings going on,” Sam said, shoving his way past Rowena. 

 

“Then why in God’s name are you here, in this disgusting old barn?” She asked, making a face as she stepped in front of Sam.

 

“Rowena, it’s none of your business. Now move before I move you.” 

 

“Oh, please. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

 

With a sudden movement, Sam whirled around, pressing the witch against the wall, his arm pressing against her chest, his blade pointed at her throat. 

 

“Watch me.” He said.

 

Rowena sighed. “I’m trying to help you, Samuel.” 

 

“Oh, really? How are you gonna do that?” Sam asked. 

 

“You’re looking for your brother, correct?” 

 

“How did you-“ 

 

“Well, that’s the only reasonable explanation for that crazy bloodlust in your eyes and the absence of tweedle-dum.” She said. 

 

“Fine. So I’m looking for Dean. How are you supposed to help me?” Sam loosened his grip on the witch a little bit, his muscles relaxing. 

 

“Did that belong to him?” She gestured with her head to the amulet Sam still clutched in his fist. 

 

Sam nodded hesitantly. 

 

“Perfect. I can use that for a tracking spell, to find your brother.” 

 

Sam let go of her, still holding his blade at the ready. “What’s in it for you? Why are you helping me?” 

 

“I’ve told you, Samuel. I’m trying to clean up my act. And what better way to do that than reuniting you with your brother?” 

 

Sam stared cautiously at the witch. 

 

“Well, hand it over,” Rowena said, gesturing impatiently at the amulet and sticking her palm out. 

 

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me anything?” 

 

“I swear I am doing this solely out of the kindness of my heart,” Rowena deadpanned, her tone growing more and more impatient. 

 

Sam dropped the amulet into her outstretched hand. 

 

***

 

Dean Winchester climbed off the motorcycle that had just pulled up in front of the gas station and made his way into the store connected to the station. He made his way through the aisles, pulling his hood up over his head. He made sure to keep his head down and stayed away from security cameras. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his brother wouldn’t stop until he found him, and the cameras would be the first places he would look. He finally found the aisle he was looking for: alcohol. He skimmed the shelf and found a bottle of whiskey. Dean would have gone to a bar, but that seemed too obvious and out in the open. He needed to be sneakier than that, and if that meant having to get drunk in some filthy alley instead of a bar, then so be it. He felt his hand begin to shake, so he shoved it into his pocket, lightly touching the Blade that rested there. His hand stopped shaking and he let out his breath. The trench coat next to the Blade brushed his hand briefly, and he quickly removed his hand from his pocket. 

 

He brought the bottle of whiskey to the counter and paid with cash, not saying a word to the cashier. Then, he made his way outside, sat in the alleyway, and drank heavily. 

 

The sun was beginning to set, and the world was growing dimmer. Dean was about halfway through his bottle, and already feeling the effects. Suddenly, all at once, Dean wished he was home. Having a drink with Sam and Cas, laughing and telling jokes and- No, he couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t get sentimental. Besides, Dean knew that was impossible. Cas was gone and he had pushed Sam away, maybe forever. He remembered the promise he had made to himself, watching the angel’s body burn:  _ Whatever it takes.  _ Nevertheless, he still wasn’t sure he had made the right choice. He hadn’t had a plan to kill Lucifer or a plan to get rid of the Mark afterward. He didn’t even know if his brother would take him back after all this was over. But, of course, it didn’t matter. He had already made the choice. There was no turning back, even if he wanted to. And they didn’t have another way to kill Lucifer, so Dean was gonna have to go through with it. 

 

Not for the first time, he asked himself whether Cas would approve of this. This was something he had been doing for the past few hours in an attempt to stop himself from going too far off the deep end too quickly. It didn’t work very well, but it gave him at least some pause. He remembered how the angel had reacted the first time he had the Mark. 

 

“There’s something different about you,” Castiel had said. Of course he could tell, not only because he was a celestial being, Dean thought, but because he knew the hunter better than anyone else did. 

 

Dean remembered Cas telling him that he would have to watch him go off the deep end, even when everyone else was dead, he would have to witness him “murder the world”.  _ Not so much now,  _ Dean thought, taking another swig of whiskey. It tasted bitter and nauseating in his mouth as it slipped down his throat, but he drank it anyway. 

 

He glanced down at his arm, which was covered in dirt and dried blood, sighing. Dean stood up, knowing he was too intoxicated to drive, but also knowing he had to anyway if he wanted to find Lucifer before Sam caught up with him. He began walking through the alley, but heard a rustling sound coming from behind. He whipped around, drawing the First Blade from his pocket, already on instinct. He instantly felt better, knowing he had the Blade in his hand. He stood there for a moment, preparing himself for a fight. After nothing happened for a while, he turned back around cautiously and continued walking towards his motorcycle, but he didn’t stow the Blade. He was about to exit the alley when he heard the shuffling sound again. He turned to see a man standing behind him, an Angel Blade in his hand, ready to strike. Dean sighed, shifting into position, ready for a fight. The man lunged at him, attempting to cut him, but Dean dodged the attack easily. 

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to do this,” Dean said, not wanting to fight, not wanting to feed the Mark. 

 

“Ha! You think that’ll stop me?” The man asked, stabbing at the hunter once again. Dean deflected it easily. “You know, when I heard reports of a Winchester, alone and drunk in an alleyway, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

 

_ Yeah, luck. _ Dean thought. He deflected another blow from the man. “Listen, man, if you kill me, you’ll only make the situation so much worse. Whoever you’re working for, whether you’re an angel or-”

 

“You think I’m one of those winged nerds?  _ Please _ .” 

 

“Fine, random demon #3, as I was saying-” He stopped fighting for a minute to roll up his sleeve. He turned his arm so the demon could see the Mark on his forearm. “You can’t kill me, and if you try, things’ll only be worse for you.” 

 

Still, the demon fought, but Dean did too, deflecting blow after blow. Finally, the demon got in a cut on the Winchester’s arm. 

 

“So that’s how we’re playing, huh?” Dean sighed again, taking all of his control to not kill the demon on the spot. 

 

The demon was relentless, stabbing over and over at Dean. Finally, the hunter’s instincts and rage got the better of him, and he began playing offense. When he started at the demon, he could see the fear in the demon’s eyes, widening as he realized just how big a mistake he had made. Just when Dean was about to kill the demon, he heard something behind him. He whipped around to see two more demons, and decapitated them both with one slash of his Blade, letting out an inhuman growl. He turned back around and killed the first demon with a single determined stab.

 

Dean removed his Blade from the demon, and the body fell, lifeless, to the ground. Except, Dean kept stabbing it, over and over, the body spraying dark red blood through the alley and onto the hunter’s face. He couldn’t think of anything other than the blood, the intoxicating taste of power he got watching it spatter the concrete ground of the alley, the satisfying jerk the demon’s lifeless body made when Dean plunged his Blade into him over and over again. Finally, he got enough control over himself to stop, and he sat there in the alley, dropping the Blade to the ground. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking and drenched in slick red blood, and tried to catch his breath, tried to get control of himself. 

  
  


***

 

“He’s not here,” Sam said, standing in front of the bar.

 

“Funny, I thought your brother always had to be around alcohol.” The witch replied.

 

The hunter glared at her. 

 

“I don’t understand, the spell was supposed to work,” Rowena said, distraught. 

 

“Some help you are,” Sam sighed.

 

“Well, excuse me if my magic is faulty sometimes. I’m still adjusting to being alive again. My magic needs time to adjust too.”

 

“You  _ said _ you could help. You lied to me!”

 

“I didn’t lie, I just… told a half-truth.”

 

Sam scoffed, pushing past the witch, and making his way to the Impala. “I could have been doing something useful this whole time. We could have even found Dean by now, but no. You lied and now we have nothing.”

 

“Oh really, how do you suppose you could have done that, without magic?” The witch said, following him. 

 

“I would’ve found another way without you.” Sam opened the door to the Impala and climbed into the driver's seat. 

 

“Hardly. How many leads did you have before I showed up?” She asked, raising one eyebrow. After Sam didn’t answer, she opened the Impala door and sat in the passenger seat. “That’s what I thought.” 

 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. 

 

“I’m coming with you. Like it or not, Samuel, I can be helpful to you.” 

 

“Fine. But if you try any funny business-“ 

 

“Yes, yes. You’ll slit my throat and all that. I’m aware of the risks. Now, where are we headed?” 

 

“The nearest motel. Sun’s going down and we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Sam said, starting the car. 

 

Before Sam could start driving, though, his phone dinged. He looked down at it. It was a message, from a hunter who sent him cases occasionally. He read the message:  _ Hey Sam, I’m taking care of a vamp nest down in Florida, but I saw this and I know you’re in the area. Looks like demons. _ Sam clicked on the article attached and skimmed through it. Three brutal demon murders, it looked like, all the bodies left in an alley next to a Gas N Sip, just two hours away from where they were now. It was thin, but it was a lead. 

 

“Change of plans,” Sam said. “Just got a new lead, looks like we’re headed to Fort Gibson.” He handed Rowena his phone and she scrolled through the article. 

 

“Well, these were certainly demons,” she said, “but how do we know they’re connected to Dean?” 

 

“We don’t,” Sam replied. “But it's all we got. Welcome to being a hunter. Sometimes you’ve gotta explore a lead, no matter how thin it is.” 

 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.” 

 

With that, the Impala sped off into the slowly darkening sky.

 

***

 

Dean pulled up in front of the abandoned warehouse and hopped off his motorcycle. He began walking to the building, slowly, cautiously. He knew there was a good chance there were demons waiting to ambush him, maybe even Lucifer. That was who Dean was gunning for, but if the devil wasn’t there he was hoping there was some sort of clue as to where he was. Dean drew the First Blade from his pocket, again brushing his fingers against the trench coat. He felt the fabric only briefly, concentrating on survival. He needed to pay attention, keep his instincts sharp. The hunter finally reached the building, stepping through the open doors. He wandered through the warehouse, seeing the blood spattered on the floor, the bodies of demons left to rot, and, of course, the burn on the floor in the shape of wings. Those images flashed in his head again, and with them the voices.  _ Couldn’t save him… not another step… I love y- CAS! _ He clutched the Blade more tightly, looking down at his hand, and seeing his knuckles turn white from the effort. The voices stopped.

 

He stepped over the demon bodies, still staring at the wings burned into the floor, not wanting to look but, at the same time, not being able to take his eyes off of them. He finally pried his gaze away, telling himself he needed to stay alert. He pushed through a tarp hung over a doorway and stepped into a different room, hoping someone, anyone, would be there. He needed a lead, he needed a win. Alas, the room was empty. 

 

“Hello?” He yelled. “Anyone? Come out, come out, wherever you are!” 

 

Still brandishing the Blade, he pushed aside another tarp, revealing another empty room. He looked through each of the rooms, one at a time, but found nothing and no one. 

 

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered to himself. It looked like he was gonna have to find Lucifer the hard way. 

 

***

 

Sam ducked under the police tape that closed off the alley, stowing his fake FBI badge. He stepped over the demon bodies that were about to be carried away by the coroner, walking towards the local sheriff. He flashed his badge at the sheriff, saying “Agent Powers, FBI.”

 

“What’s the FBI care about a few back-alley murders in a small town like Fort Gibson?” The sheriff asked, raising her eyebrow suspiciously. 

 

Sam had been asked this before in his many years of hunting, and he had a prepared answer. “We have reason to believe a possible war criminal passed through here, and this is the only lead we have.”

 

“Ah,” the sheriff said. “Well, come on, I’ll show you what we’ve got.” She began leading the Winchester brother through the alley. “There’s not much, all we found at the scene was a half bottle of whiskey and some broken glass. We tried fingerprinting but none of them registered. Our forensics team is working on that now. We haven’t had the chance to talk to anyone in the store yet, you guys sure get here fast.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam said distractedly, “We’re pretty on top of it. I’m gonna go see if I can get anything out of the employees at the store, but if you find anything else, give me a call.” He handed her his card, which displayed his phone number and fake name. 

 

The sheriff took the card, then tipped her hat to the hunter, saying “Will do.” 

 

Sam made his way into the Gas N Sip, the little bell attached to the door announcing his arrival. He walked up to the counter and asked the cashier whether she had been working the previous day at 8 pm, the estimated time of death for each of the demons. 

 

“Yes sir,” she said, flashing a friendly smile, “what can I do for you?”

 

“Well,” Sam cleared his throat, flashing his fake FBI badge, “I’m with the FBI and wanted to ask you some questions.”

 

“Ask away,” she replied. 

 

“Did you see anything suspicious during your shift yesterday?” Sam asked. 

 

“Well, there was this one guy. Came in around 6:00, bought a bottle of whiskey and left. I couldn’t see his face very well, he had covered it with a hood.” 

 

“Did he use a credit card, by chance?”

 

“Nope.” The cashier shook her head, “paid with cash.”

 

“Is there anything you remember about him?”

 

“Well, for one, his arm was shaking when he paid, real violently. I asked him if he was okay, but he didn’t respond. Even though his hood covered his face, I could tell he had green eyes, real bright, like emeralds. Then, when he reached over to grab the bottle, I saw some sort of weird tattoo on his forearm.” 

 

Sam drew a photo out of his pocket, one he had cut out of the book about the Mark of Cain, and turned it around so the woman could see. “Did it look something like this?” He asked. 

 

She glanced at it for a second, then nodded. “Exactly.” 

 

“Just one more question,” Sam said, stowing the picture, “Did you happen to see what he was driving?”

 

“Big black motorcycle, real loud. I heard him the second he pulled up,” She responded. 

 

“Thank you,” Sam said, walking out the door, the tiny bell tingling again. 

 

He made his way back to the Impala, where Rowena was waiting. 

 

“Well, he was definitely there.” He said. 

 

“So what now?” The witch asked. 

 

“Now,” he replied, sighing, “we look through traffic cameras and try to find him.”

 

***

 

Hell was a lot darker than Lucifer remembered, and smellier. Asmodeus really had screwed the place up. But Lucifer had a plan to fix it. 

 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here today,” He began, addressing the crowd of demons cramped into the throne room. 

 

“Well,” He leaned back in his throne, “I have a very special job for each of you.”

 

A murmur ran through the room, and Lucifer smiled. He had gotten them excited.

 

“I want you to spread the word. There have been reports of Dean Winchester, traveling alone in Oklahoma. Tell anyone you can that there will be a special reward for anyone that kills him.” 

 

More gasps spread through the room, each demon excited at the prospect of winning The king’s favor. “You’re dismissed!” Lucifer concluded. The demons began to file out of the room, still murmuring and whispering. 

 

Once all the demons were gone, save for Lucifer’s personal guards, one of the guards turned to him. 

 

“Lucifer,” the demon began. 

 

“King.” The archangel corrected. 

 

“King,” the demon parroted. “Our reports tell us the Winchester is in possession of the Mark of Cain…” 

 

“Do you think I’m stupid, Derek?” Lucifer asked, vexed. “Of course I know he has the Mark.” 

 

“But, sire, wouldn’t trying to kill him be a suicide mission?” The demon asked. 

 

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.” 

 

***

 

“I’m gonna ask you this once, and only once,” Dean said, his tone dark, brandishing the First Blade. “Where is Lucifer?” His words echoed through the woods where he had the demon trapped.

 

“Bite me.” The demon hissed. 

 

Dean smiled. “You know, I was hoping you’d say that. Because now,” he chuckled, low and sadistic. “Well, now we get to have some fun.” 

 

He ran the tip of the Blade across the demon's arm, but the demon only clenched his mouth shut, trying his hardest not to scream. Dean could tell the demon was trying not to let his pain show. 

 

“I’m gonna get it out of you, one way or another, so you might as well save yourself the trouble.” The hunter said. 

 

The demon scoffed. “Really? Is that what happened to those other demons?” He gestured with his head towards the bodies scattered through the woods. 

 

Dean looked down. 

 

“Because it looks to me,” the demon continued, “like someone lost control and killed them before he could get information. So my guess is you’ll end up killing me without getting any information either, one way or another.” He smirked. 

 

Dean chuckled, looking back up at the demon. “We’ll see about that.” 

 

With that, he cut again into the demon’s collarbone, slowly digging the tip of the Blade into the flesh, stopping when he felt it hit bone. The demon grimaced, gritting his teeth. 

 

Dean sighed, tightening his grip on the Blade. “Let’s try that again.” 

 

He cut into the demon’s cheek, piercing the soft flesh. The demon screamed this time, then coughed up blood. “I’m not scared of you.” He said through a mouth of blood, his teeth stained red. 

 

Dean smiled. “Oh, but you should be.” 

 

Keeping the First Blade in his right hand, Dean began to press his left thumb into the demon’s eyeball. He felt a satisfying pop, and blood began to pour from the eye, trickling down Dean’s hand. The demon was screaming now, louder than ever. Dean was slightly concerned that someone might hear him, but he was pretty sure no one lived out in this remote of an area. Besides, with luck, the hunter would be on the road in a few minutes. 

 

“Okay!” The demon yelled out, his voice hoarse. “I’ll tell you where Lucifer is.” 

 

Dean removed his hand from the demon’s eye, stepping back. The demon didn’t speak for a minute, he was trying to catch his breath. He panted, looking down, watching the blood from where his eye had once been dripping to the ground.

 

“Well? Am I gonna have to bring out the blowtorch?” Dean asked, expectantly. 

 

“Hell! He’s in hell…” the demon grimaced. 

 

Dean made a motion for the demon to continue. 

 

“After Asmodeus died, it-it was a mess, so Lucifer came down and took control again…” 

 

Dean nodded, thinking. 

 

“Now, would you please kill me?” The demon begged, his voice hoarse and tired.

 

Dean smiled again. “With pleasure.” 

 

He ran the demon through with the First Blade, watching the light fade from his eyes. He wiped the blood from his hands and stowed the Blade in his pocket. 

 

***

 

“Is that him?” Rowena asked, speaking loudly over the sound of the Impala’s engine. 

 

Sam pulled out his phone and swiped through his photos. Finally, he came upon the one he was looking for, a picture taken by a traffic camera. Although the picture was fuzzy, Sam could make out a black motorcycle with a Kansas license plate: GZA-208. It had been difficult to find a picture of it, Dean hadn’t been sloppy this time. He had stayed off of main roads and highways, except when absolutely necessary, but it only took one time for Sam to find him. 

 

“What’s the plate number?” He asked Rowena. 

 

The witch squinted, trying hard to see in the dark night. “Something like… GZF-208?” 

 

“GZA-208?” Sam asked. 

 

Rowena nodded. 

 

“That’s him.” Sam sighed. 

 

“What’s he holding?” Rowena asked. 

 

Sam strained to look, staring at the object the figure on the motorcycle (who he was pretty sure was Dean) was holding in his right hand. 

 

“That looks like… the First Blade.” Rowena said, surprised. “But… that wouldn’t work unless he had-“ 

 

“The Mark of Cain.” Sam finished, sighing. 

 

“Samuel! Why didn’t you tell me before? I wouldn’t have signed up if I knew your brother was in possession of the only thing in existence that can kill me.” 

 

“It wasn’t necessary information at the time, and I didn’t know if I could trust you,” Sam said, his voice tired. 

 

“Not necessary information!” Rowena scoffed. “You didn’t think it was necessary for me to know that the person we’re hunting-“ 

 

“We are not hunting him.” Sam cut her off, his tone growing dark. 

 

“Funny, there was a time when you boys used to hunt monsters.” The witch replied, venom in her voice. 

 

“Dean is not a monster. He’s just…” 

 

“Mislead?” Rowena asked sarcastically. 

 

“Going through a dark time right now.” Sam finished. 

 

“Ah, I see. That angel of his, huh?” Rowena said knowingly. Sam thought she might be implying something, but he couldn’t figure out what. 

 

“Yes.” Sam’s voice was stone cold. “And, trust me, I will do whatever is necessary to stop him.” 

 

“See, that’s the thing, Samuel. I can’t trust you to stop him. Since I’ve known you, you and your brother have had to make difficult decisions; whether to save the world or each other. You have chosen each other. Every. Single. Time.” She said, “So why should this time be any different?” 

 

Sam was formulating a response when the motorcycle ahead of them stopped. The figure on the cycle stepped off and turned around, facing the Impala. Sam brought the Impala to a slow stop, stepping out of the car, Rowena following suit. He began walking towards the figure, who he could tell clearly now was Dean. 

 

“You took my car?” He asked, throwing his hands in the air.

 

Sam shrugged. “You weren’t using it.” 

 

“If anything happens to her-“ 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll kill me. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of chances once we get home.” He started towards his brother, but stopped when Dean took a defensive stance.

 

“Sammy, I’m not going to come with you. You have to go,” Dean said. 

 

“I’m not leaving. I’m not gonna let you do this.” Sam replied, determined.

 

“Dammit, Sam. You don’t understand. I  _ have _ to do this, and we both know you can’t stop me.” Despite his threatening words, Dean’s voice was weak and hesitant. He tried to maintain a strict tone, but it was difficult. All he really wanted was to go home with his brother. No, that wasn’t true. What he wanted was Cas back. Either way, that wasn’t happening, but the least he could do was honor his promise.  _ Whatever it takes.  _ Turns out it would take a whole lot for him to stop Lucifer, but that didn’t make Dean want to any less. 

 

“I’m not letting you do this to yourself,” Sam said, stepping towards Dean again. 

 

“You don’t understand,” The older hunter stepped backward. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you. I don’t know what I’ll do to you if you don’t leave, so please, just go.” 

 

“No,” Sam said simply. 

 

Dean drew the First Blade. “I don’t want to have to do this.” His voice shook, his words faint. 

 

“You don’t have to.” His brother replied. 

 

“May I interject?” Rowena stepped forward. “I could end all this with a simple spell, Samuel. We don’t have to convince your brother to come with us.”

 

“That’s not happening,” Sam said, but before Rowena could respond Dean had her pressed up against a tree, his hand covering her mouth, the First Blade pressing at her throat. 

 

Sam drew his blade. “Dean, what are you doing?” 

 

“You’re right. She’s not casting any spells, I won’t let her.” 

 

Rowena tried to struggle, but stopped after Dean shot her a look. 

 

“Dean, don’t do this,” Sam said cautiously. 

 

Dean could hear the fear in his own voice. Fear of himself, of what he would do, what he would become. “I won’t have to do anything if you just leave.”

 

“I already told you, I’m not leaving,” Sam replied.

 

Dean didn’t move. Sam started towards his brother, tackling him in a poor attempt to stop him. 

 

Rowena was released, and as she watched the brothers wrestle, she noticed a scrap of fabric fall from Dean’s pocket. She recognized the tan silky scrap, and she knew what she had to do, even if it cost her life.  _ I’ll see you soon, Fergus.  _ She thought, hastily grabbing for the fabric, clutching it in her hand. She began to mutter a spell. 

 

“Cum ego mortuus mortuis resurgemus…” 

 

Her eyes lit up a bright purple, but before the spell could take effect, Dean managed to scramble towards the witch, and stab her through the stomach. Her eyes went wide as she felt herself lifted into the air by the Blade, feeling the raw and utter pain of the razor-sharp jawbone running her through. Her pain didn’t last long. As Dean watched the light fade from her eyes, he pulled the Blade from her body, watching it slump bonelessly to the ground, saying “Not today witch.”

 

“Dean…” Sam started, scrambling to his feet. 

 

“Leave,” Dean replied, staring coldly at his brother. When the younger Winchester didn’t move, he yelled, “Now!”

 

Sam still didn’t move. 

 

Dean shook his head, charging at his brother. Sam moved, startled, to defend himself, knocking the First Blade out of his brother's hands at the last second. Dean glared towards the dirt ground, looking where the Blade had slid away, then turned back towards his brother. He aimed a left hook at Sam’s face and felt it connect, blood spraying through the dark night. Sam returned the blow with one to his opponent's stomach. Dean stumbled back, the wind knocked out of him, but soon recovered. He ran back at Sam, an inhuman growl coming from his throat. 

 

“Dean, stop!” Sam yelled, but his brother didn’t stop. 

 

“I can’t,” Dean replied, his voice low, his breathing heavy. 

 

He aimed a kick at his brother's chest, knocking him down. Before Sam could get up Dean found himself on top of his little brother, punching mercilessly at his face, blood covering the road, splashing over both vehicles. Then, when he heard his brothers rasping breaths, Dean stopped. He stood up, walking towards his Blade. 

 

Sam didn’t try to stop him. He couldn’t, he was too tired to move, he was in too much pain to even twitch his finger. “Dean…” He coughed.

 

Dean picked up his Blade, walking to his motorcycle. 

 

“Don’t come after me again, Sam.” He said, his voice low and pained. The hunter climbed on top of his motorcycle and drove away. 

 

Sam turned his head, staring at the shiny red blood, mostly his own, that littered the ground, the witches body, and the scrap of Castiel’s trenchcoat, covered in blood and draped over the road, left behind. 

 

***

 

Dean’s arm had finally stopped shaking, at least for the time being. He finally felt… calm, at peace. Funny how beating your brother an inch away from death can do that to you. Dean had once thought that the Mark of Cain was insatiable, that it would keep hungering for death and he would have to keep feeding it or, well, you could guess what would happen. But alas, Dean had found a way to subdue it. Of course, it was a shame that it happened to involve hurting the ones (one, there was only one now, Dean reminded himself, holding back tears) he cared about the most. 

 

The hunter zoomed over the darkly paved road through the dark night, continuing to take back roads, knowing his brother wouldn’t give up so easily. He was headed towards Texas, where he knew there was a backdoor entrance to hell. 

 

He drove for hours, finally reaching his destination: an abandoned pizza shop on the outskirts of Dallas. He got off his motorcycle and drew the First Blade, noticing for the first time that Castiel’s trenchcoat was no longer in his pocket. _Oh_ _well_ , he thought, _it’s too late to turn back now._

 

He stepped towards the creaky old door of the pizza shop and stepped in, facing the flames graffitied onto the wall. He sighed, speaking the pass phrase Crowley had told him to years ago. The fiery gates opened in front of him, and he stepped through, not even hesitating.  _ Whatever it takes. _

 

***

 

Sam Winchester had never been good at doing what he was told. He had left hunting for Stanford, despite his father’s threats, he had saved his brother over and over again despite all reason telling him not to. He remembered one day when he was seven, maybe eight, when he decided he wanted to go on a hunt. His brother, twelve years old at the time, had laughed and shaken his head. “Sammy,” he had told him, “you’re too young to hunt.” It had never occurred to Dean that  _ he  _ was too young to hunt.

 

“But I wanna go!” Sam had insisted, stamping his foot down. 

 

“You can’t,” Dean had replied calmly. 

 

Sam had looked down, unsatisfied. 

 

“Hey Sammy, I’ll bring something back for you. A souvenir.” Dean had smiled down at his younger brother.

 

The younger Winchester had nodded, then, under his breath, muttered “jerk.”

 

“Bitch.” Dean had replied, then smiled and pulled his little brother into a bear hug. 

 

Sam had hidden in the backseat of the Impala and gone along with them anyway. Dean was the only reason Sam hadn’t gotten a beating for that. Dean had always protected his little brother, which was why Sam had to return the favor. 

 

Sam had never done what he was told, that was why he wasn’t gonna give up on stopping his brother. He stepped on the gas pedal in the Impala, his head throbbing, his ability to see impaired due to the blood running from his temple into his left eye. He knew that he had been the one to kill Rowena. Sure, Dean had been the one to stab her, to actually take her life, but it had been Sam’s fault. He hadn’t been able to stop Dean. No, that wasn’t true. He could have stopped his brother, but he didn’t have the guts to do it. Rowena had been right. The brothers always put each other before the world, every single time they had the choice, and someday it would catch up to them. 

 

***

 

The only sound in the dank, poorly-lit throne room was the echoing rasp of Dean Winchester’s breath. He held the First Blade in his hand, the Mark of Cain on his forearm lighting up a bright orange, black tendrils spreading through his arm, up to his shaking hand. 

 

Lucifer studied the bodies that surrounded the Winchester, most of them low-level demons he had sent to guard the outside of the throne room, wouldn’t be too much of a loss. He uncrossed his legs and stood up from his throne, pulling his Angel Blade from its holster. 

 

“Hello Dean,” He said casually, “I’ll give you a minute to catch your breath,”

 

The hunter curled his lip, his mouth twitching. In rage, Lucifer assumed, but really it was an attempt at self-control, whatever the hunter had left, he had mustered it. He needed to go into this situation with some sort of control, he couldn’t go rushing after his revenge. That would be stupid. Dean almost laughed, like bringing back the Mark of Cain wasn’t stupid. Somewhere in the back of his head, he remembered that, but all he could think about now was the blood dripping slowly, ominously, from his Blade. Each drop made a faint sound as it splashed to the concrete floor.  _ Drip, drip, drip... _

 

The Winchester flipped his Blade so it was pointing at the archangel. “I killed your demon minions, I killed Rowena, hell, I almost killed my brother. You’re next.” He growled. 

 

“I guess that makes me the boss level.” His eyes flashed a bright red. 

 

“We’ll see about that.” Dean snarled. 

 

“I guess we will,” Lucifer smirked, brandishing his smooth, shiny Angel Blade against the hunter’s dirty, blood crusted jawbone. 

 

Dean lunged at the archangel, aiming to kill, straight for the heart. Any other time, Dean would have savored this kill, this revenge, but the Mark needed so badly to kill, to take life, to plunge the blade into the soft flesh of the devil. Lucifer aimed a blow towards Dean’s head, but the hunter ducked just in time. He stabbed at the devil’s shoulder, a poorly timed blow, Dean already knew it wouldn’t work. Lucifer kicked the hunter across the room, sending him skidding to the foot of the throne. Dean tried to stand up, but it hurt too much. He coughed. 

 

“Is that the best you can do?” Lucifer yelled, walking towards the hunter. 

 

Dean coughed again and stood up. 

 

“I’m going… to kill you.” He told the archangel, his voice low and vindictive. 

 

“Are you?” The devil smiled, aiming another blow at the Winchester’s arm. The Angel Blade dug through the skin, drawing a river of blood that dripped to the floor. 

 

_ Something’s wrong _ , Dean thought. Lucifer had a perfect chance to kill him. Why didn’t he take it? 

 

But the hunter didn’t have time to finish the thought. The archangel brought his blade down, swinging it at Dean’s head. Dean blocked the Angel Blade at the last minute, bringing his own Blade up to counter it. He pushed forward, knocking the archangel’s weapon from his hands. 

 

Lucifer sighed. “Looks like we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.” 

 

He balled his hands into fists, starting towards the hunter. He landed blow after blow on Dean, punching his face, his stomach. He beat him towards the wall, finally knocking Dean’s Blade out of his hands, sending it skidding along the blood covered floor of the throne room. He had the hunter where he wanted him, cornered, no way to run, no one to look to. Dean panted, low and hard, his lip curling, growling in rage, screaming and struggling against the archangel’s crippling grip. 

 

“You really thought you could do this? Kill me?” Lucifer hissed. “You’re not strong enough.”

 

Dean snarled again, sounding like some sort of wild dog. 

 

Lucifer smiled, landing a final blow at the hunter’s head. 

 

The world around Dean Winchester faded away, turning black, his broken and bleeding body crumpling to the floor, the perfectly untouched archangel smiling over him. 

 

***

 

The floor of the cell was hard and cold. Dean Winchester propped himself up on his hands and knees, wincing at the sharp pain in his head. He looked up, studying his surroundings. He was in the throne room still, in one of the cells that lined the wall. He put a hand to his throbbing head and felt the blood crusted there. 

 

“He lives!” A voice came from somewhere in the throne room. 

 

Dean turned around to see Lucifer standing in front of his cell. “Why aren’t I dead?” He asked, his voice thick and strained. 

 

“Sometimes I wonder how you’ve stayed alive for so long with that stupid little brain of yours,” Lucifer said, shaking his head.

 

Dean only glared back at the archangel. 

 

“Why would I kill you?” Lucifer asked, grabbing the bars of the cell, “when I could do something so much more fun?” 

 

Dean gave him a tired smirk. “What, torture? ‘Cause I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

 

“Mm, no.” The devil said. “It’ll hurt more than torture. For your brother, at least.”

 

Dean slammed against the bars, pressing his face on them. “What did you do to him?”

 

“Nothing, yet. I don’t even know where he is, but, I’m sure he’ll find me. And you.” 

 

“If you hurt him, I swear to God-”

 

“What? You’ll kill me? Funny, I thought you already tried that. And, well, we both can see where that got you.” Lucifer flashed the hunter a sickly sweet smile. “Besides, weren’t you the one just bragging about beating little Sammy up?” 

 

Dean’s mouth trembled, his fists clutching the bars harder, his knuckles turning white. “I had to-”

 

“You didn’t have to do anything.” The archangel interrupted, his voice deadpan, “you chose this. Everything you’ve done, every action you’ve taken, everyone you’ve killed leading up to this moment, you chose.”

 

“I didn’t choose this, the Mark-”

 

“Dean, the Mark can only make you kill if there’s a part of you that wants to.”

 

The hunter only stared at Lucifer, his nostrils flaring, his arm trembling. Calmly, Lucifer reached his hand into his coat and drew the First Blade from it. Unwillingly, Dean felt himself pressing closer to the bars, trying to get closer to his Blade. His hands shook violently, harder than ever. He felt himself reaching through the bars to try and grasp it. A small growl rose up in his throat but came out sounding more like a desperate whimper. 

 

The devil stepped back and smiled. “Oh, did you want this?” He pointed Dean’s Blade end-first to the hunter. 

 

Dean didn’t respond, he only fixed Lucifer with a cold stare. At least, he meant to, but his face looked more desperate than threatening. He didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to give the archangel the satisfaction of knowing that every cell of his body hungered to touch it, to feel it, to hold the raw and ultimate power in his callused hands. He didn’t mean to, but Dean felt himself give a small nod in response to Lucifer’s question. 

 

The archangel chuckled. “All in good time.”

 

Dean let go of the bars and coughed violently. When he removed his hand, he looked down at it. It was covered in fresh, sticky blood. 

 

“You’re dying,” Lucifer told the hunter, pointing Dean’s Blade towards him. “You haven’t killed anything in, what? A few hours, and you’re already dying.” He laughed. 

 

“I don’t care.” The hunter forced the words out, curling his lips. His teeth were showing, stained blood red. 

 

“I know  _ you _ don’t care,” The archangel began, “but that thing on your arm? That won’t let you die.”

 

Dean glanced down at the Mark seared into his forearm, a hint of fear spreading across his face. Lucifer gave him a self-satisfied look. 

 

The archangel reached through the bars and offered Dean the First Blade. The hunter shook all over, his arm twitching towards his Blade. He tried to stop himself, to not reach for it, to stay still, to not give in. But he wanted it, somewhere in his mind, aside from the Mark, he wanted it. He felt himself rushing towards the bars where Lucifer was holding his Blade, snatching it greedily from the archangel’s hands. He let out a shuddering sigh when his fingertips came in contact with the jawbone, his muscles relaxing. His arm was finally still and his head no longer throbbed. 

 

Lucifer let go of the hunter’s Blade and let Dean draw it through the bars, flipping it around so he was holding the handle. The hunter’s expression grew clouded, his eyes locked on his Blade, only able to focus on the blood and the pain and the power. “Good,” the archangel hissed. “Give in.”

 

Two demons appeared in front of the hunter, brandishing Angel Blades. 

 

“Kill them,” Lucifer’s voice was barely a whisper. 

 

“No, no, I can’t- I won’t.” Dean said, his tone growing panicked, snapping out of his daze. He shook his head frantically, his eyes full of fear, but he hadn’t let go of his Blade, he was still clutching it in his bloody hand. 

 

“I would be threatened by that,” Lucifer admitted. “If I thought you had a choice.” He smirked and stepped away from the bars, watching the hunter with casual amusement. 

 

The demons came at Dean, stabbing desperately at him with their Angel Blades. Out of instinct, the hunter’s arm moved to defend himself. Lucifer could tell it was taking all of Dean’s self-control not to give in, not to kill. But the archangel knew he would, no matter how long it took. Dean was fighting a battle with the Mark, and the Mark was winning. 

 

The demon screamed as the Winchester plunged his blade into her chest. He spun around, growling, stabbing the second demon in the head. He had that look on his face again, that raw, bloodthirsty, almost primal look. The two bodies slumped to the floor of the cell, and Lucifer watched, smiling, as the hunter stood over them, breathing heavily, his face and hands splattered with blood. 

 

***

 

It had been five weeks since Sam had last seen his brother, and he had almost given up hope of finding him. It wasn’t like Sam to give up hope, but now Castiel was gone and his brother, too, probably, and it was becoming more and more difficult to remain optimistic. He still checked the news, sometimes, trying to find some sort of gruesome kill he could use to chase after his brother. So far he had looked into a few, but his efforts had been fruitless. So here he sat, in a crowded bar, on his fourth beer of the night, his computer propped open in front of him. He was searching for news reports, murders, something that looked like demons, anything, when a young man sat next to him. 

 

The man looked to be in his twenties. He had tousled dirty blonde hair, dark hazel eyes, and a long, pointed nose. He was wearing a brown and red flannel covered by a dark brown vest. He ordered a beer and glanced at Sam. He did a double take. 

 

“Excuse me,” He said to Sam. 

 

Sam turned towards him and shut his computer. 

 

“So sorry to bother you,” he began, “but… are you Sam Winchester?”

 

Sam looked at the young man suspiciously. “Yeah… why? How did you know me?”

 

“Dude, are you kidding? You’re a legend in hunter circles. You and your brother-” He stopped suddenly, clearing his throat and looking down. “Sorry…”

 

“No, keep going. What were you about to say?” Sam was curious. 

 

“Oh,” the young man rubbed the back of his neck, “I was just gonna say that you and your brother have saved the world more times than I’ve hunted vampires.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry to, uh, waste your time.” He started to get up, but Sam stopped him. 

 

“Wait,” Sam gestured for the hunter to sit back down. “Why did you pause when you started talking about my brother? What happened?”

 

“You mean you haven’t heard?” The hunter asked, surprised. Sam shook his head. 

 

“Well,” The hunter began nervously. “Word on the street is he went after Lucifer, hasn’t been seen since. Dead or captured.” 

 

Rage and determination filled Sam. He stood up, leaving his beer unfinished, and left the crowded bar. He got into the Impala and drove.

 

***

 

It had been five weeks since Dean Winchester had first shown up on Lucifer’s doorstep, and the hunter had finally broken. He sat, slumped, in the corner of his cell, his bloody hands clutching the First Blade, fresh blood dripping from the latest kill.

 

“What do you want from me?” The hunter’s voice was drained and tired. His face was broken, his eyes tired, his hair tangled and matted with blood. His clothes, which he had been wearing the past five weeks, were torn and stiff, covered in dried blood.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” The archangel asked, his tone demeaning. “I want you to suffer. I want you to feel what it’s like to watch yourself become a killer, like the very things you hunt. But most importantly, I want your brother dead, and I want the last thing he sees to be your hands wrapped around his neck.” 

 

“What the hell makes you think I would do that?” Dean’s tone lacked its usual cockiness. Now he just sounded drained. 

 

It hadn’t been easy to break the hunter, even Lucifer had to admit those damned Winchesters were strong, but he had managed. Although sending round after round of his own demons for Dean to kill hadn’t exactly been cost efficient, it was worth it to see the broken look on the hunter’s face. And they hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet, it would be even better once Sammy saw his big brother run him through. Now that, that was priceless. So Lucifer didn’t really care that a few of his demons had died. In the grand scheme of things, that was small fry. 

 

“Because it’s your destiny,” Lucifer said simply. “Cain’s story began when he killed his brother, and that’s where yours will end.” 

 

“If you really think destiny will make me do something, you’re out of your mind. It was my destiny to stop the apocalypse, it was my destiny to be Michael’s vessel, I’ve had hundreds of destinies, and I beat the shit out of every single one of them.”

 

“But you haven’t been ‘beating the shit’ out of this one, have you? You’ve been giving in to the Mark, you’ve been fulfilling your destiny.”

 

“Only because you’ve been making me,” the hunter replied. 

 

“Oh, Dean,” the archangel said with mock sympathy. “I think we’ve already established that I’m not making you do anything. You’re the one giving in, you’re the one that’s letting yourself fall. You’re the one that, deep down, wants to kill, craves blood. You’re the one that got mad and flew off the handle after I killed your boyfriend.” 

 

This made the hunter glance up, a look of raw and utter disdain in his eyes. “If you mention Cas one more time-”

 

“You’re the one that let him die.” Lucifer smiled at the low growl the hunter gave in response. “I may have been the one to kill him, but your pet angel’s blood is on your hands. So stop blaming other people for your problem, stop telling yourself that it’s my fault, because it's not. You’re the one that killed Castiel and you know it.”

 

The hunter stood up and rushed towards the archangel, pressing himself up against the bars, pointing his Blade at Lucifer, his arm shaking. “I promise you, my brother will find me, and then I’m going to kill you.” He growled, his voice deep and vengeful. 

 

“You’ll kill someone,” Lucifer said almost casually, a cruel smile spreading over his lips. “But it won’t be me.” 

 

The archangel began to walk away, his steps filled with confidence. Some of his scouts had just told him that the second Winchester was closing in on Hell, so Lucifer knew it would soon be time to put his plan into action. He wouldn’t send the hunter any more demons, not for now. He would let him suffer and starve until his brother arrived. 

 

***

 

The moment Sam entered Hell, he knew something was wrong. Where there would normally be guards posted on every square inch of the place, the only guards in the corridor were dead, their blood almost completely covering the slick floor. Dean had been here, Sam was sure of it. The only question was, if his brother had arrived here a while ago, why hadn’t the guards been replaced? The whole thing seemed suspicious, but Sam wasn’t one to back down. He knew he had to find and save his brother no matter what it took. Or, if it was too late, if Dean was dead, he needed to kill Lucifer. He didn’t exactly have a plan to do that, but he had always been good at winging it. 

 

He stepped forward, stopping in front of the enormous metal doors that separated the throne room from the rest of Hell. He held his Angel Blade, poised for attack, and swung the doors open, a loud creak accompanying them. He stepped tentatively through the doors, ready for an ambush- there was no way Lucifer was ignorant of his entering Hell, but the throne room was empty. 

 

“Dean!” He yelled for his brother, his voice reverberating through the empty halls. 

 

In response, he heard a loud, hacking cough from one of the many cells that lined the wall. He rushed to the cell, seeing his brother sitting in the back corner of the small concrete room. 

 

“Sammy?” His brother looked up with broken eyes, his face and clothing covered in dry blood. Sam noted that Dean was slouching, curled up into a small ball in the center of the cell, condensing himself as much as he could. This was more than a little bit concerning. Dean  _ never  _ slouched, and he always tried to make himself look as large as possible. It wasn’t like him to look so small and feeble.

 

“Dean, I’m gonna get you out of here,” The younger Winchester replied. 

 

“No Sam, you need to leave.” Dean’s tone was grave and pained. He coughed again, hacking up blood as he did so. 

 

“I’m not leaving you again,” Sam responded, fumbling through his pockets, looking for his lockpick. 

 

“Sam, it’s for your own good, please, I’m serious this time.” His beyond-desperate plea almost gave Sam pause.

 

“I don’t know what Lucifer did to you, but I’m going to save you,” Sam said. 

 

“Lucifer didn’t do anything to me.” His voice was barely a whisper, “and I’m past saving.” 

 

“That’s not true, Dean.”

 

Sam had found his lockpick and was working away at the enormous lock that was positioned on the bars of the cell. 

 

“Sammy, stop.” Dean pleaded. 

 

“No,” His brother replied simply. 

 

The older Winchester coughed again, more blood appearing on his hand when he removed it from his mouth. “If you unlock that, I’m going to kill you,” He said, but there was no menace in his voice, only pain, only the old and tired weight of a man without hope. 

 

“Is that a threat?” Sam asked. 

 

“It’s a promise,” Dean whispered, his face tired, his eyes hollow, his voice filled with grief. 

 

Sam continued working at the lock. Dean buried his head in his knees, his whole body shaking and shuddering. He was shaking his head, and Sam thought he might be muttering to himself, but couldn’t hear what he was saying.

 

“That was beautiful really,” A voice came from behind Sam, and he whipped around to see Lucifer himself standing there, his arms crossed, a knowing smile on his face. “But we really should get going with this, shouldn’t we Dean-o?” He looked down to the older hunter, curled into a ball in the corner of his cell.

 

Dean looked up towards the archangel, revealing the silent tears streaming down his blood covered face. “Shut up,” he said, his voice filled with disdain and fear. 

 

“Oh Dean, such a flirt,” Lucifer said, glancing toward Sam, who was still worrying furiously at the lock. “Let me help you with that,” He smiled, and with a flick of his hand opened the gate. 

 

Dean had his head buried in his knees again, and was muttering “No, no, please, no…” His voice was thick, choking back tears. 

 

Lucifer ignored him, drawing the First Blade from the folds of his coat. He set it down on the floor and kicked it towards Dean, letting it slide to a stop at his feet. Sam only watched, a slow understanding spreading through his face. 

 

Dean’s hand started to shake, his whole body twitching and trembling in the presence of the Blade. “Sam,” he looked up at his brother, his eyes wide and frightened, like a deer in the headlights, “Run.” 

 

Sam, finally understanding the situation, finally realizing that the only way to help his brother would be to leave, bolted for the enormous double doors. Lucifer rolled his eyes and closed the doors shut with a flick of his hand. Sam struggled against them, slamming his body against the doors in a desperate attempt to open them. 

 

Meanwhile, Dean had stood up, his now still arm clutching his Blade. The Mark of Cain glowed a painfully bright orange underneath his bloodstained shirt. 

 

“Dean…” Sam started moving slowly towards his brother. “Dean, you can fight this.” But he wasn’t sure if he believed that. 

 

“Sammy, you need to do whatever it takes to stop me.  _ Whatever it takes _ ,” The words came out forcefully, like he was struggling to speak. He seemed to be fighting against something, something in his mind, some force, some power beyond anything he had encountered before. Still, he was fighting, barely holding on to the last bit of sanity he had left.

 

Sam hesitated, then nodded his head, solemn and still. He knew, one way or another, this would end today. 

 

Dean growled, the last of his self control fading. His once pained and struggling expression suddenly melted away, and his face became blank. When he looked up at his brother, Sam could see only bloodlust in his eyes, his grip on his Blade tightening. Dean Winchester was gone, and Sam was now facing the raw, unadulterated power and rage of the Mark Of Cain. Dean started running ferociously at his brother. Sam began to back up, slowly at first, then his pace quickened as Dean drew closer. He had promised his brother he would stop him at any cost, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to pay that price. When the First Blade came crashing down on him, when he barely stopped it with his Angel Blade, he knew only one of them would come out of this fight. Still, he held back. He aimed each of his blows for Dean’s arms or legs, while his opponent aimed to kill. 

 

Dean struck again, his Blade slashing at Sam’s shoulder, a determined grunt escaping his bloody mouth. Sam barely dodged the attack, countering with a slash at his brothers’ leg. Dean dodged this easily, stabbing at the younger hunter’s chest. 

 

Lucifer watched as the two brothers clashed, a smile on his face. Everything was going perfectly according to his plan. A clang echoed through the throne room as the First Blade smashed into Sam’s Angel Blade, both weapons forming a cross, with Dean pushing down hard on his brother’s. With a yell, the younger Winchester pushed his blade up, forcing his opponent’s away. Dean advanced on his brother, and when Sam looked into his eyes he saw no hint of recognition, no guilt, no pain. Only a need, a lust, a craving, for blood. 

 

The older hunter wouldn’t hold back, he had slipped finally, had let the Mark take control, and he was unstoppable. He disarmed Sam, sending the Angel Blade up in an arc, clattering finally to the floor of the throne room. Sam started to rush for his blade, but before he could move, Dean had him pressed against the wall, cornered, his Blade at his brother’s throat. 

 

He started pressing, digging his Blade slowly into the soft flesh of the younger hunter’s throat, savoring the kill. A look of cruel determination crossed Dean’s face, inspiring fear in Sam’s. This was it: the end, the last straw, the final battle, the fulfillment of his destiny. And, hell, Lucifer was giddy. He watched eagerly as the younger brother tried desperately to struggle, to fight, to do something against the sheer strength of the Mark of Cain. A tantalizing drop of blood dripped from Sam’s neck, where the First Blade was digging into his flesh. Dean was smiling, his face twisted and cruel, almost unrecognizable. He was so close, just inches away from killing his brother, from ending it all, from giving in to his destiny, when the huge double doors slammed open. 

 

Dean turned his head, his face still not losing that feral look, loosening his grip on Sam. The younger Winchester slipped from his brother’s grip while he was distracted, putting a hand to his throat and gasping desperately for his breath. Lucifer watched in horror as the angel Castiel emerged from the doors, his eyes lit up a bright blue, the shadow of his broken wings spread across the dimly lit wall. 

 

Dean stared at the angel, his face growing more familiar, more recognizable. “Cas,” he breathed. He suddenly seemed to realize what was happening, and he whipped towards Lucifer, who was standing, his jaw practically on the floor, next to the hunter. He plunged the First Blade into the archangel’s heart, watching his red eyes flicker out and die, his body slumping to the floor with a heavy thud, his wings searing viciously into the floor of the throne room. 

 

He turned back to Castiel, who was standing still in front of the doors, watching in stunned silence. Suddenly, Dean knew what he had to do.  _ Whatever it takes.  _ He turned the Blade around in his hand, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cas.” He whispered, and before either of his companions could move, he plunged the First Blade through his heart, feeling the soft squish of his own flesh. A look of peace, of relief, crossed his face, and the hunter collapsed, dead, to the concrete floor of the throne room. 

 

***

 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Sam ran frantically to his brother, calling out his name. Castiel only stood in front of the doors, unmoving, a look of fear filling his eyes. 

 

“Do you have handcuffs?” The angel asked, his voice radiating panic. 

 

Sam looked up at Cas, tears already welling in his eyes. “What?”

 

“Do you have handcuffs?” Cas repeated. Sam looked up at him with growing confusion. 

 

“What- Why?”

 

“He’s not dead, Sam. The Mark won’t let him die. Handcuffs?” He looked expectantly at the hunter. 

 

Sam only stared back at the angel, his face full of pain and sorrow. 

 

“Quickly, before he wakes up,” Castiel said, his voice almost void of emotion. It took quite a bit of effort to keep his tone flat, considering all he’d been through, everything he’d just witnessed. 

 

Sam fumbled to grab his handcuffs from his pocket, finally understanding, getting himself together. 

 

***

 

“How are you alive?” Sam finally asked the angel riding shotgun as the Impala zoomed down the lonely road. 

 

“I’m not sure,” Cas admitted. His voice was tired, low, full of sorrow and something else Sam couldn’t quite place, “it felt like a spell, some sort of life source transfer, but that would take a very powerful witch to perform.”

 

Sam sighed, understanding now. “It must have been Rowena, she cast some sort of spell before… before Dean killed her.”

 

“He killed her? Dammit.” Cas muttered, turning around to see the unconscious hunter slumped in the back seat. “Why didn’t you stop him?” 

 

“I-I couldn’t,” Sam said, stumbling for a better explanation. 

 

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” Cas asked. 

 

“You know what stopping him would mean.”

 

“Of course I do,”

 

“Then you would have done the same thing in my situation,” Sam said, his voice cold. 

 

“I suppose I would,” Cas admitted. “But that doesn’t make it any less stupid.” 

 

They sat in silence for a while, Cas staring out into the dark, starless night, thinking about everything. Of course, there wasn’t much to think about. The facts were right there in front of them: Lucifer was dead, but a much greater evil had just been unleashed upon the world. And, as always, Castiel blamed himself. He had slipped up. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to tell Dean how he really felt, it just put them all in danger. It was just the moment, and he was dying, and those words might have been his last, and the angel couldn’t hold back anymore. Nevertheless, Cas was convinced this whole damn situation was his fault. 

 

***

 

The hunter recognized the room; it was cold and dimly lit. The walls and floor were made of concrete, the only color in the room the bright red devil’s trap painted into the floor. He had been here before, a lifetime ago, in this chair. The chair where they kept various villains and monsters. Was that was he was now? A monster? Had he sunk so low that he had to be trapped in this dark room, tied to this rickety chair? He supposed so, he deserved it. It had been his choices, his moves that had led him here. Everything was his fault, everything that had happened. Cas, and- no, but Cas was alive. But how had- Suddenly, he remembered he was supposed to be dead. 

 

He turned his face towards the two men standing over him, their faces sharing a concerned look. He paused for a moment, studying the angel’s face, trying to make sure it was real. No, it couldn’t be real. It had to be fake, he was dead, he had seen him die. But that face, the one he had thought he would never see again, it looked so real, so familiar. He needed some way to make sure this was real, and it wasn’t like he could pinch himself. His hands were tied behind his back. “What kind of black magic did you pull to keep me alive?” Dean asked. 

 

“We didn’t do anything, it was the Mark-” the younger Winchester started.

 

“I wanted to die!” Dean yelled, his choked up voice echoing through the room. 

 

“Dean, listen to me.” The angel’s tone was painfully serious. “The Mark of Cain, it won’t let you die. Not until you fulfill your destiny.” 

 

When Dean heard Castiel’s voice, he was suddenly sure this was real. That was his angel, through and through. Dean paused for a moment. He didn’t want to talk, he only wanted to hear Cas’ voice again, god, it was so good to hear his voice after all this, after everything. 

 

“What about Cain? He had the Mark and I still killed him.” Dean asked finally, when he realized he had to say something, his voice hoarse.

 

“He had completed his quest, he had killed his brother. His work was done. Yours, though, isn’t.” Castiel explained. His face was sullen and pained. Knowing he had caused that look didn’t make Dean feel better. 

 

“I want you two to promise me something,” Dean knew he had to choose his words carefully here, if he ever wanted them to agree to this. “I want you to find a way to kill me,” He said, his voice hard and soft, rough and smooth, pained and emotionless, all at the same time. 

 

“Dean, there must be another way to remove the Mark, we can save you,” Sam said, his voice shaking. 

 

“I already told you, I’m past saving. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with what I did, I-I killed Rowena, I was seconds away from killing you,” He looked up at his brother. 

 

“But you stopped,” Sam said, his voice desperate. 

 

“I shouldn’t have started in the first place, Sam.” His voice grew louder, his tone sterner. “You almost died because I made a stupid choice, because I flew off the handle and I didn’t trust you. I didn’t have enough control, enough pause to think this over. I rushed into this, I could have killed you because I wanted so desperately to stop Lucifer.” Dean could feel tears welling in his eyes, but pushed them away fiercely. He knew this would only get worse if he cried, if he showed his pain. 

 

“You did stop Lucifer,” Sam responded, desperately trying something, anything, to stop his brother. 

 

“But at what cost?” The older brother asked, his voice low and broken. “And now, even here, you can’t trust me to be in the same room with you unless I’m tied to a goddamn chair.” 

 

“That’s for your own safety,” Sam said, “and once we get rid of the Mark-”

 

“Getting rid of the Mark won’t stop me, Sam. I still made the decision to take it, and the Mark only works if there’s a part of me that wants it to.” 

 

The younger hunter turned to Cas and asked, hesitantly, “is that true?”

 

The angel didn’t say anything, he only looked down at the floor and gave a small nod, closing his eyes briefly as if in mourning. 

 

“Do you understand now, Sam? I won’t stop, not ever. I can’t stop unless you stop me. Please, promise me.” His eyes were pleading, his voice strained and broken. He coughed. 

 

Sam looked down, thinking for a minute. “I promise,” he said, his words solemn. 

 

“Cas?” Dean turned to the angel, his voice breaking. 

 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you,” He replied, still looking down. 

 

“That’s not what I asked, Cas. Promise me you’ll find a way to kill me.”

 

“Okay,” the angel responded, slowly nodding. “I promise, I will find a way to- to kill you.” The words came out forcefully, strained, as if he didn’t want to say them, didn’t want it to be real. 

 

Sam turned and walked angrily out of the room. Cas glanced back at Dean for a moment, his blue eyes tracing over the hunter’s broken and bloodied face, then turned and followed Sam. 

 

***

 

“Sam, what are you doing?” Cas asked as he left the dungeon, a few steps behind Sam, who was already taking his computer out.

 

“Research.” Sam replied, sitting down and frantically typing something into the search bar.

 

“For what?” 

 

“I’m going to find a way to save my brother.” 

 

“Sam, you promised him-”

 

“I don’t care.” His voice was hard. 

 

“Sam, whether or not we actually can remove the Mark of Cain, Dean is still dying. If he doesn’t kill something soon, he’ll starve.” 

 

The way the angel said starve like his brother was some sort of creature that needed to feed, needed to kill, made Sam angry all over again. “Yeah, about that, I had an idea.” He turned his computer so Castiel could see it. 

 

The angel quickly skimmed the page. “No.”

 

“Cas, it’s the only way.” 

 

“Are you insane? We are not turning your brother into a demon again. Do you not remember what happened last time?” 

 

“I still have scars from the last time.” Sam said, “and it’ll only be temporary. It kept him alive last time and it’s the only option we have now.” 

 

“There’s another option.” The angel said, his voice low. 

 

“What? Let him die?” Sam scoffed. 

 

“Sam, it pains me as much as it does you, but we both made a promise. We can’t back down.”

 

“So what, we just give up?” 

 

“We aren’t giving up.” Cas sighed. 

 

“Cas, Dean is in there right now, dying. Please, if you care about him at all, please help me with this. I know it’s dangerous, but it’s all we have.”

 

“I don’t want to do this  _ because  _ I care about him, Sam. Don’t you get it? I love him, same as you do, and it pains me as much as it does you, but we can’t do this to him. We need to respect his wishes.” Cas’ voice cracked.

 

“I’ll do it without you, then.” Sam remained stubborn. 

 

“Sam, I am an all-powerful angel. I could stop you with a flick of my fingers-“ 

 

“I don’t care. If you really want to stop me, go ahead. If not, I could really use your help.” 

 

Cas hesitated. He wanted to move, wanted to stop Sam. Every ounce of his body knew that was what he  _ needed  _ to do, but… well, he had always been the angel who loved humanity, who rebelled against heave, despite every reason not to, to save them. “What do we need for the spell?” He asked reluctantly. 

 

***

 

It was getting worse, Dean could tell, he would die soon. He coughed, his entire body shuddering as he did. He was scared. Of course he wanted to die, but when it was close, it was hard to not be scared.

 

The door to the dungeon swung open, and Dean watched as Cas and Sam stepped through. They each carried an armful of supplies, herbs, and artifacts, for a spell, it looked like. The moment Dean saw their faces, he knew something was wrong.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked warily. 

 

“Dean, just remember that this was not my idea,” Cas said. 

 

“What’s going on?” He asked, watching his brother turn and begin mixing ingredients in a bowl. “Sammy?”

 

Sam didn’t respond, he only continued what he was doing. 

 

“Answer me!” Dean insisted, his voice filled with panic. 

 

Sam turned around, holding the now full bowl. “I’m not letting you die.” He said plainly. 

 

Dean turned his head towards the angel. “What’s going on? What are you doing?” 

 

Cas looked away. 

 

“Sam? Cas? Stop, please stop.” He begged. 

 

The way he said Cas’ name made the angel’s heart shatter. What was he doing? He was turning Dean into something he didn’t want to be just to keep him alive when he wanted to die. But Cas didn’t try to stop Sam, and he didn’t stop himself. He knew Sam wasn’t going to stop, so he might as well go along.

 

Sam began reading off of a piece of paper, reciting some Latin words that Dean didn’t understand. He could only watch and listen as Cas scattered the mix from the bowl around the hunter’s feet and Sam continued reciting the spell. 

 

“Sam? Sam? You made a promise! You promised me! Cas, come on, please!” That last word,  _ please _ , was barely a whisper.

 

Cas clenched his eyes shut, trying not to listen to the hunter’s desperate pleas. Sam ignored his brother, continuing the spell. Dean listened, trying to recognize something, trying to figure out what the hell they were doing to him, but the only word he caught was “daemonium”. That, Dean recognized. Suddenly, all at once, he understood what was happening. 

 

Panic filled every inch of Dean’s body. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want to become this, he didn’t-it didn’t matter what he didn’t want. What he wanted was to die, he wanted to go to heaven, he wanted to spend the rest of his days in peace, no more pain, no more heartbreak, and screw it if the world broke while he was gone. He had earned a break, goddammit. He wanted to see his friends again. He wanted to see Charlie, Bobby, Kevin, he wanted to see his family. He didn’t want to have to face his living family: Cas and Sam, knowing what he had done. He wanted peace. He wanted it to be over.

 

“Sam! Sam, stop!” He screamed. “Please, you promised me, you-” His voice caught in his throat as the spell began to take effect, his entire body began to shake and tremble, then his head slumped down, his eyes closed. He was unconscious, for now. 

 

Sam and Castiel glanced at each other. 

 

“Now what?” The angel asked. 

 

“The spell should take a minute to take full effect, so for now, we just sit and wait.” 

 

“I’m still not sure we did the right thing.” 

 

“It was the only thing we could do,” Sam reassured the angel, but Cas still wasn’t buying it.

 

They both turned their heads when they heard a cough. Sam quickly turned, brandishing a flask filled with holy water. Dean looked up, staring at the angel and the hunter. His eyes, which had once been a bright, lively green were now filled with an inky black. 

 

“Heya, Sammy.” He said, flashing a smile. 

 

***

 

Sam didn’t respond. 

 

“You’re even stupider than I thought,” The demon said, smirking, “And that’s saying something. I mean, bringing me back? It’s like you have a death wish.”

 

“I did what I had to, I saved you,” Sam said, his words reserved, trying to not fuel the fire. 

 

“Oh really? You saved me?” He laughed and shook his head. “You only saved yourself. I asked you to let me die, but no. Poor little Sammy couldn’t live without his big brother. So now you’re going to leave me tied to this chair forever, or at least until you get your brother back. Well, let me tell you something, Sammy. You’ll never get your brother back. He’s gone, dead. And you killed him.” He hissed. “That, I’m grateful for. Maybe in return I’ll make your death quick.” 

 

Sam only stared at Dean, his jaw clenched. 

 

“Sam, come on, let’s go,” Cas said, his voice flat. 

 

“You never could stand conflict, could you?” Dean-no, not Dean, the monster he had become (although Sam was pretty sure there was only one monster in this room, and it wasn’t Dean.)- asked, glaring menacingly at the angel.

 

“You left heaven to go converse with a bunch of humans because you couldn’t bear to hear your family fight. You abandoned them, and then you let them down. You let Metatron destroy heaven, you started a war, and then you gave it up all for one guy. And guess what? The icing on the cake?” He laughed, cruel and sadistic, nothing like his human laugh. “You gave it all up for him and he didn’t even care. He knew what you would do, a stupid little angel soldier looking for validation, for someone to tell him he was good, to tell him he did well.” 

 

“This isn’t you,” Cas said, talking more to himself than the hunter.

 

“It is now, and you better get used to it. Meet the new and improved Dean Winchester!” The demon laughed cruelly, and smiled again, a crooked grin that lacked his usual joy. 

 

Cas turned and left, his trenchcoat flying behind him, and Sam followed, slamming the door. 

 

***

 

“That should keep his… needs at bay for a while. Hopefully it’ll allow us enough time to find a cure.” Castiel said, stowing his Angel Blade as he walked out of the dungeon. Sam could tell he was angry, his words were reserved and his jaw was clenched.

 

“Cas, it’s not your fault that-”

 

“I know Sam, I just want to focus on finding a cure.” 

 

The hunter nodded solemnly. “What’s our next step?” 

 

“Well, I had an idea. The Mark was created by God, so maybe He wrote down a way to remove it somewhere.”

 

“The demon tablet,” Sam replied, finishing Castiel’s thought for him. 

 

“Bingo.” 

 

“But Metatron said none of the tablets had anything about the Mark in them…”

 

“Metatron has told billions of lies, Sam.”

 

“And we wouldn’t be able to translate that without a prophet.” 

 

“Well, when Donatello was- when Donatello died, another prophet was born. We just need to find them.” Cas said. 

 

Sam sat down and opened his laptop. 

 

“Look for anything unusual- random flashes of lightning, stories of people telling the future, anything.”

 

The hunter nodded and started typing something. They waited a moment for results, and finally, an article showed up. 

 

“Here’s something.” Sam said, “Random flash of lightning in Colorado. One woman was hit, hospitalized.” He looked up at the angel. 

 

“It’s not a lot to go off of.” 

 

“It’s something,” Sam replied. 

 

“Okay, well, you’d better get going,” Cas said. 

 

“Don’t you mean ‘we’?”

 

“No. I’m staying here. One of us needs to look after your brother.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one doing that? I mean, I know the bunker better and-”

 

“Sam, one of us is an all-powerful angel and one of us is a man who once tripped over air, caught himself, tripped again, and broke his arm in three different places. I think you can guess which one is more suitable to take care of the actual demon in our dungeon.” Cas responded matter-of-factly. 

 

“Fine, but if anything happens-”

 

“I’ll call you. You should get going.” 

 

***

 

“Where’s Sam?” The demon asked, staring up at the angel. 

 

“Gone,” Cas replied, speaking carefully. 

 

“Where?”

 

The angel only looked away, his arms crossed. 

 

“Answer the question, Claire.”

 

“My name’s not-” He sighed, “I don’t even know why I’m indulging you.” 

 

“It’s probably because you love me,” Dean said in a mocking sing-song. 

 

Cas took a deep breath, not wanting to respond, not wanting to feed into whatever trick the demon was playing. 

 

“You know what’s sad, too? He -the old Dean- never loved you back. He always thought you were just a selfish,  useless, baby who did nothing more than cry to his daddy when things went wrong.” 

 

“This isn’t you talking.” The angel responded, his teeth clenched. 

 

“Ya know, you keep saying that, but I’m not really sure you believe it.” 

 

“This isn’t you, this isn’t you,” Cas repeated. 

 

“Come on, Cassie. You know better than that.” The demon flashed him a sardonic grin. 

 

Castiel said nothing, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stop himself from speaking. He wasn’t sure why he had come in here, maybe to reassure himself that Dean was okay, maybe to talk some sense into him. He wasn’t sure why he had entered the dungeon, but being there was making him more and more agitated, so he left, and began pacing frantically through the bunker, awaiting Sam’s return. 

  
  


***

 

“Hey, Jay!”

 

Jamie Knight looked up at the sound of her name, glancing towards the redheaded woman leaning on the car next to hers, a dirt-crusted black Ford Mustang. It must have cost her a pretty penny. 

 

“What do you want Toni?” Jamie asked, removing the cigarette from her mouth. 

 

“Heard about what you’re doing tonight, figured you could use an extra set of hands.” The redhead responded. 

 

“What about that thing down in Fort Junction?” 

 

“My guys have got it covered,” Toni said, shrugging. 

 

“So you thought you’d come tag along with me? Why?”

 

“Dude, I’d take burning down an old building over sitting outside in the damn cold and starving to death any day.” 

 

Jamie snorted. “So you’re going to let your ‘guys’ do that while you screw around with me?”

 

“Damn, Jamie. When’d you get to be such a prick?”

 

“After your no-show down in Springs.”

 

“Come on man, you can’t blame me for that. It’s not my fault I got arrested.” Toni protested, unaware of the absurdity of her statement.

 

“Did you vandalize the town hall?”

 

The redhead sighed. “Well, yes, but-”

 

“Then it’s your fault you got arrested,” Jamie said, popping open the trunk of her car. 

 

“You’re really gonna lecture me about doing illegal shit, Ms. I-Accidentally-Killed-Two-People?”

 

Jamie turned, leveling a finger at Toni. “That was a mistake, okay? I didn’t set it up, the guy just came to me, asked me if I was in. He didn’t mention anything about people being in the building.”

 

“And you didn’t think to check the building before you set it on fire?” Toni scoffed. “How did you ever live without me?” 

 

“See, this shit is why I don’t want you coming with me.” Jamie pulled two cans of gasoline from the trunk of her car. 

 

“Dude,” Toni stepped back. “You’re not gonna smoke right in front of that  _ highly flammable _ gas, are you?”

 

“Chill Toni, it’s not like I’m opening it yet or anything.” 

 

“Famous last words.” The redhead shrugged. 

 

Jamie dropped the cigarette from her mouth, putting it out with her foot a few inches away from the cans. “Better?” She asked sarcastically. 

 

“I swear, Jay, you’d die without me.” 

 

Jamie made a face at the redhead, brushing her own red-streaked, raven black hair from her face, then winced as a sharp pain passed through her forehead. She had gotten quite a few of them since she’d been in the hospital a few days ago. Migraines, the doctors had said, often caused by trauma or extreme stress. 

 

“Come on, man. Let me come. It’s not like you have anything to lose.” 

 

Jamie sighed. “Fine. Be there at 6:00, don’t bring anyone else.”

 

“What, do I look like a noob to you?”

 

Jamie glared at her, and the redhead returned it with a smile and wink. “Catch ya on the flip side, Jay.” She said, stepping into her car.

 

***

 

Sam flipped through the police report, skimming the pages. As far as he could tell, the woman had been in the hospital for a few days, then had checked herself out yesterday. The very same day she had left, she had proceeded to burn down an old lab that had shut down after rumors started swirling that they were using cruel and illegal methods to test their products on animals. She had burned it down in protest, according to the report. Apparently, she had been turned in by an undercover police operative, Antoinette Griffin. Sam slid the file onto the table next to him and started towards the room in which the woman (who he was, after looking at her medical records, almost certain was the prophet he was looking for) sat, awaiting questioning. 

 

He stepped into the room and saw Jamie Knight, exactly as she looked in her picture. Her hair was styled in a spiky pixie cut, raven black with occasional streaks of bright red. Her eyes were a striking grey, her skin was slightly tanned. She wore a black tank top and Sam could see the tattoos that decorated her arms. 

 

“Good morning, Ms. Knight-” He started, sitting in the chair across from the prisoner. 

 

“Call me Jamie.” She interrupted. 

 

“Jamie, nice to meet you. I’m Agent Owens-”

 

“No, you’re not.” Jamie interrupted again, “you’re Sam Winchester. Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Like, twice.”

 

Sam was dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure how to react. Was this woman a hunter? How did she know him? He found it best not to respond, not to admit the truth. He only gave her a look. 

 

“How did I know?” She asked, answering his question before he could ask it. “Well, you murder enough people you’re bound to be on television. I saw you on the local news a while ago, they said you were dead. But I never forget a face, one of the perks of a photographic memory”

 

Sam was still unsure how to respond. He hadn’t stopped to think about that. Of course if someone had tried to assassinate the president their mugshot would be all over the news. 

 

“So, Sam, tell me how you got to be an FBI agent. I’m sure it’s a fascinating story. By the way, where’s that partner of yours? Dean, was it?” Jamie spoke casually, leaning back in her chair. 

 

Sam coughed, finally regaining his composure. “Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”

 

“‘I want to talk to you about my serial killer brother’, now there’s something you don’t hear every day,” Jamie replied. 

 

“You checked out of a local hospital two days ago, after being struck by lightning?”

 

“Yeah, what’s that have to do with murder?”

 

“Have you been having any headaches, migraines, since then?”

 

“Sure. Why?” Jamie began to grow suspicious.

 

Sam sighed, wondering what exactly the best way to break the word to her would be, then he decided that he should probably just be straightforward. “You’re a Prophet of the Lord, and I need you to come with me and help me save my brother.”

 

“I bet you tell that to all the girls,” Jamie rolled her eyes. 

 

“Jamie, I’m serious.”

 

“Ah, so you’re a religious serial killer. I shoulda known.” She sighed. 

 

“I’m not a serial killer.” 

 

“Then what are you?”

 

“I’m- a hunter.”

 

“Oh, okay. So you kill animals instead of people. That’s so much better!” Jamie scoffed.

 

“Not that kind of hunter.”

 

“Alright, I’ll indulge your crazy. What kind of hunter are you?” 

 

“Jamie,” Sam lowered his voice, “Monsters are real. Vampire, Werewolves, Ghosts. You name it, I kill it. Angels and Demons, Heaven and Hell. God, too.”

 

Jamie snorted. “Why would I believe you?”

 

“How else do you explain being hit by lightning and walking out of the hospital two days later without a scratch?”

 

Jamie shrugged. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you aren’t completely wacko. Why should I come with you?”

 

“Because you can either help me and I can get you out of here, or you can rot in a prison cell.”

 

“Or… I could cry ‘serial killer’ and the only one rotting in a jail cell will be you.” She smirked. 

 

Damn, she was good. Sam figured he needed to try from a different angle. “Please, if you have any decency, you’re the only shot I have at saving my brother.” 

 

Jamie sighed. She didn’t really care about this guy or his stories, but she was curious to see where this was going. “Okay, fine. But I bet you 50 bucks you’re completely full of shit. And you have to pay for the bus ride.”

 

“No need,” Sam smiled. “I’ll drive.” 

 

***

 

Castiel hadn’t had a moment of peace in over three days. He knew he couldn’t leave Dean alone, the demon would probably find a way to escape, so Cas had had to endure the constant antagonizing and degrading speeches Dean had delivered over the last few days.  _ At least when he was human he slept _ , Castiel thought, groaning as Dean launched into another one of his long speeches about how the angel was a coward and a cheat, how he had abandoned his family, how he had let everything and everyone he had ever loved or cared about leave or die. Cas prayed silently that Sam would be back soon, tuning out the snappy comments the demon was making in the background. Finally, as if someone had heard his prayers (although Cas knew this was impossible, God had left long ago), the angel heard the bunker door open. He pushed himself off the table he had been leaning on, unsheathing his Angel Blade. He began walking towards the door, and as he reached it, turned around. “You behave,” he said, pointing his blade at Dean. 

 

The demon stuck his tongue out in response, and Cas left, leaving him to the dark, smelly dungeon. 

 

Castiel walked towards the stairs that led into the bunker, watching Sam and a young woman, who seemed to be in her early twenties, walking down them. He met them at the bottom of the stairs. 

 

“Who’s this?” The woman asked, removing her cigarette from her mouth. 

 

“You really shouldn’t smoke those,” Castiel responded, nodding his head towards the cigarette. 

 

The woman rolled her eyes, placing the stick back in her mouth. 

 

“Would you like to know your exact time and date of death if you continue to?” The angel asked. 

 

“No thanks.”

 

“It’s soon.” 

 

Sam rolled his eyes, then gestured towards Cas. “Jamie, this is Castiel. Cas, this is Jamie. She’s a prophet.” 

 

Cas stuck his hand out, and Jamie took it, shaking firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.” He said, bowing his head slightly.

 

“What are you supposed to be? A hunter?” Jamie asked, looking Cas up and down. 

 

“Actually, I’m an angel.”

 

“Oh, cool,” Jamie said, her tone not sounding as casual as her words. “As if this day couldn’t get any weirder.” She muttered under her breath. 

 

“Should we get started?” Sam asked. 

 

“Sure, I have the demon tablet right here,” Cas said, patting the tablet that rested on the table. 

 

Sam pulled out a chair for Jamie and she took a seat in front of the tablet. She skimmed through it, glancing at the words unintelligible to the human eye. She winced, pressing her hand to her temple, then reached down and touched the tablet. “Oh shit,” She whispered, her voice barely a breath. 

 

“Pay up,” Sam said, holding his hand out. 

 

Jamie ruffled through her pocket and drew fifty dollars from it, not looking up from the tablet. She slapped the money into Sam’s hand and he smiled. 

 

“Can you translate it?” Castiel asked. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. It might take a little while, but…” 

 

“Perfect. Look for anything about the Mark of Cain.” 

 

Jamie nodded, still not looking up from the tablet. Sam and Cas exchanged a look. They were finally getting somewhere, they were finally winning, even if it was only a small battle. 

 

***

 

It had been almost five weeks and Sam was beginning to grow impatient. He had forgotten how long it took to translate the word of God, and the ever-growing armada of coughs that racked his brother more and more frequently was giving him a sense of urgency. Dean was dying, despite being a demon, and if he wasn’t cured or he didn’t kill something soon, it would all be over. And Sam suspected that this time, he would stay dead. No resurrections, no angels raising him from perdition, no miracles, nothing. This was it. 

 

Sam crawled out of bed, still groggy from his half hour of sleep the previous night. He got dressed and ran his hands through his hair, stepping into the hallway of the bunker. He walked towards the dungeon, pulling his Angel Blade from the holster attached to his belt. He swung open the door to find the room completely empty. The devil’s trap on the floor had a line scratched in it, the wooden chair that used to sit in the center of it lay all around the room, smashed to smithereens. A rope lay on the floor in the center of the devil’s trap, frayed and broken.  _ Son of a bitch _ , Sam thought. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, looking for his phone. He finally found it and saw that there was a voicemail, from Cas, that had been left at 3 am that morning, while Sam was sleeping. He pressed a button on his phone and put it up to his ear, listening to Cas’ voicemail. 

 

“Sam, I don’t know if you’re awake, but Dean escaped. I put a LoJack on his car, I’m tracking him right now. Call me when you get this.” The voicemail ended and Sam hastily pressed the call button. 

 

The phone rang as Sam exited the dungeon, shaking. He made his way to the hidden drawer in the War Table, unlocked it, and opened it. He fumbled through it but didn’t find what he had been looking for. So it was worse than he thought, Dean had gotten the First Blade. 

 

“Hello?” The angel’s voice finally came through the phone. 

 

“Cas!” Sam said, relieved and terrified at the same time. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine. The LoJack gave out about an hour ago, but the last location I had was down in Wichita, so I’m looking through every bar in the area. If you think of a better way to find him, I’m open to ideas.” 

 

“Yeah, no. I’ve got nothing. I’ll meet you down there.” 

 

“Hurry.”

 

The single word hung in the air, so ominous, so full of weight and meaning and pain. 

 

Sam rushed into the guest room, made sure Jamie knew he was leaving, left the bunker, and drove. 

 

***

 

Cas had finally found him, after hours of looking. He knew it was him the second he walked into the bar. Even with his back turned, the angel could tell. 

 

“So,” The demon said, slamming his beer on the table, his voice echoing through the empty bar. “Are we gonna do this or are you just gonna keep standing there crying?” He turned around. 

 

“I don’t cry,” Castiel said, his voice low and solemn. 

 

Dean reached into his jacket and drew the First Blade, holding it in front of his face. He studied it, inspected every curve, every scratch, every tiny detail. One of the teeth on the jawbone was chipped, that was from when Cain had thrown him across the room in their final fight. There were still blood stains splotched along the tip from where he had sunk the blade into Rowena’s flesh. There was a rip in the fabric of the handle from when Lucifer had cut him with his Angel Blade. Once, Dean might have felt remorse for the things he had done, the lives he had taken, the torture and pain he had inflicted on others. But now, thanks to a spell from a certain brother that had given him his pretty black eyes, he felt nothing. He only relished in his past victories, his only regret was that he had had regrets, hesitations, before. Before, when he was still human, when he didn’t have the Mark Of Cain, when even if the world had gone to shit he still had his family, Team Free Will. What a load of horse crap it all was. All his doubts had vanished, leaving only determination, only a need, a hunger, a lust, for blood. No hesitations this time. He would do whatever he needed to. Or whatever he wanted to. 

 

“Dean, we don’t need to do this,” Cas said, drawing his Angel Blade all the same. 

 

The demon chuckled. “You’re right. I don’t need to do this.” He stood up, brandishing his Blade, walking menacingly towards the angel, who now took a defensive stance. “I  _ want  _ to do this.” 

 

“Dean-” He started, but his words were cut off by a callused fist to his face. The bitter, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, already knowing what the demon’s response would be. 

 

“That’s too bad,” Dean said, his voice sharp and condescending. “‘Cause I wanna hurt you,” He growled. He stabbed at the angel with uncontrolled wrath, barely missing, and Cas finally understood how serious the situation was. Despite having known Dean was no longer himself, Cas had not fully understood the implications of his transformation. It was not until he saw the raw, passionate bloodlust in the demon’s eyes that he knew that this fight ended one way: bloody. 

 

Dean stabbed, again and again, sending a merciless barrage of cuts to the angel’s trenchcoat. Castiel dodged and deflected most of them, just barely, staying on the offense. The demon snarled, punching at Cas’ gut, sending him skidding across the empty bar. The angel stood up, watching as Dean approached him, the demon’s Blade bloody and his eyes filled with murder. Castiel deflected another blow just in time, barely holding his Angel Blade still in his shaking hands. He needed to stop pulling his punches, he needed to start playing offense, but he couldn’t. He had too many hesitations, he didn’t want to hurt Dean. Meanwhile, Dean, well, we’ve already established that he had no reservations. He knew what he needed to do, and he was going to get it done. He knocked the Angel Blade out of Castiel’s hand, sending it skidding with a metallic clang across the room. He had the angel right where he wanted him, cornered, nowhere to run, no one to look to. This was the end, one stab, one cut, and he could end Cas’ life. He was so damn close.

 

Castiel was not ignorant to his vulnerability. He was trapped, weaponless, out of options. He thought frantically for some way to get through to the demon.  

 

“Dean, please,” Cas begged, “I need you.” That was why he had made so many insane decisions ever since this whole mess started, that was why he had sacrificed everything to save Dean. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, his words could bring the demon back from the brink. Those three words had been said many times. Whenever one of them was about to go off the deep end, whenever they needed to get through to each other, those words, those three little words had stopped them, had given them pause. It was the only thing Castiel could think of, in his desperation, in his vulnerability, those three words, a final begging breath. They had always worked. Every time something was about to happen, every time they were about to kill each other, it had worked. 

 

“I don’t care.” The demon hissed, plunging his Blade into Castiel’s gut, not far enough to kill him, but enough to make him bleed. Cas stared up at his cold, unfeeling, pitch-black eyes, and realized the demon was too far gone; nothing would work now. This was the end. 

 

Something in the angels face broke, his eyes were empty, his bones felt shattered. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything. It hadn’t worked, after everything they’d been through, after everything that had happened, it hadn’t worked. So this was how it ended, not with a bang but with a final helpless cry. It would all end here, at the hands of his most trusted friend, his family, the man that had saved his life over and over. It was almost poetic that the same man who had saved him would be the same person to end him. Cas winced in pain, finally feeling the Blade that had just run him through, tasting the painful, coppery blood in his mouth, blinking back the tears welling in his eyes.

 

“I thought you didn’t cry, angel.” The demon smirked, his eyes black as coal, hollow and empty. 

 

“Go ahead,” Cas said, his voice breaking. “Kill me.” But the words weren’t a challenge, there was no defiance in them. Only pain, only loss. Only defeat, surrender.

 

The demon smiled, pulling the old jawbone from the angel’s gut, watching the gasp of pain Cas let out as he slumped against the wall, limp without the support of the demon’s Blade. Cas looked up at the demon, whose eyes were still black as night, his full red lips twisted into a callous grin, the exposed Mark that glowed brightly on his forearm soaked in angel blood. The angel closed his eyes, bracing himself, a single tear falling down his bruised cheek. “Do it,” He whispered. 

 

The demon flipped his Blade over in his hand, pointing it at the angel. He smiled, shaking his head. “No, not yet.” He leaned forward, inches away from Cas’ face. The angel could feel his cold, inhuman breath in his face. “I wanna make this last.” He hissed, his voice a low whisper into Castiel’s ear. He held his Blade to the angel’s chin, pushing his head up. Cas shuddered, disgusted by the sickly intimate touch. But before the demon could do anything, the door to the bar slammed open, and the demon whirled around. Out of the dust and splinters stood Sam Winchester, a knife in his hand, his jaw clenched, his muscles tense, ready for action. Castiel stood up, lurching towards the demon, using the last of his strength to restrain him in a tight bear hug. 

 

The demon growled, a deep, inhuman sound, like a feral dog or wolf. The angel’s eyes lit up a bright blue with the effort it took the restrain the demon, his teeth clenched, his trenchcoat dripping thick red blood. “Sam…” He grunted, struggling. “Cuffs.”

 

Sam sprung into action, rushing to cuff the demon as Castiel said the same words he had said all those years ago, the same words he had said over the same growls, the same snarls and grunts of protest: “It’s over, Dean.” Although, Cas wasn’t so sure of that.

 

Inhuman growls filled the bar, drowning out all other noise.

 

***

 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked the angel as they stepped out of the dungeon. 

 

Castiel slammed the door, cutting off the growls and screams and taunts echoing from the dungeon. “I’ll be fine. I just need time to heal.” He grunted. 

 

The angel and the hunter walked together into the library of the bunker, turning the corner to see Jamie sitting at the table, which was covered in papers, in front of the tablet. “That’s not what I meant, Cas.”

 

“How’s it going?” Castiel asked Jamie, ignoring Sam, sitting down across from the prophet. “I need some good news.”

 

Jamie sighed. “Looks like you came to the wrong place, then.” She looked up, watching as Sam sat next to Cas. “It’s not looking good, boys. I’m almost done translating, but there’s nothing here about the Mark of Cain.”

 

Castiel muttered something under his breath and slammed his fist on the table. “We’re running out of time.” He said. 

 

“I know, I know. I’m working as fast as I can.” 

 

“How have you been doing this so quickly?” Sam asked. “It took Kevin and Donatello months to translate tablets.”

 

Jamie shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve always had a knack for studying. Besides, Donatello and Kevin were guys, they were probably spending half the time jerking off.” 

 

Castiel sighed. “How long will it take you to decipher the rest of it?” 

 

“A couple more weeks at my best guess.”

 

The angel turned to Sam. “We don’t have that much time.” 

 

“We also don’t have another choice, Cas.” He looked towards the prophet. “Is there any way you can speed this up?”

 

“Dude, what do you think I’m doing here? You can’t rush translating the word of God.” Jamie replied. 

 

“We need to find another way, Sam. Dean doesn’t have much time left.” Cas said. 

 

“Okay, what other ideas do you have?” The hunter asked. 

 

“We could talk to Abel,” Castiel replied, after thinking for a second. “He was around when the Mark was created, he may know a way to get rid of it.”

 

“But… Abel’s dead.” 

 

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

 

Sam gave him a look, as if to acknowledge that he was right. 

 

“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever heard,” Jamie commented, not looking up from the tablet. 

 

“Which one of us is staying here?” Sam asked. 

 

“We both need to go. This is an all-hands-on-deck situation.”

 

“What and-and leave Jamie here? Alone?”

 

Castiel turned to the prophet. “I need you to do me a favor.” 

 

Jamie nodded. 

 

“You need to put a protection spell around the dungeon.” Cas started, walking towards the bookshelves that lined the walls. “It’s in one of these…” He muttered. 

 

He finally found the book he was looking for and slammed it on the table, rifling through the pages. “The spell should make it so that, until reversed, nothing can get in. Or out.” 

 

“Uh… I don’t know if I can do magic.” Jamie said, her voice wary. 

 

“This is easy: beginner magic. Anyone can operate it.” Castiel replied, finally finding the page he was looking for. “You’ll find the ingredients you need in our pantry.” He turned the book around so Jamie could see. “Once we’re gone, follow the instructions and place the spell on the dungeon. Then, run like hell out of here. Do you think you can do that?”

 

“Say some Latin shit then leave? Yeah, I think I can do that.” She nodded. 

 

“Good. Sam, let’s go.”

 

“Where exactly are we going?”

 

“Hell. That’s where most theorized Abel went after he died.”

 

Sam shrugged. “I’ll drive.”

 

“No,” Cas said. “I’ll teleport us there.”

 

“What? Cas, you’re hurt. You need to rest.”

 

“What do you not understand about ‘we don’t have much time’? I’ll be fine.”

 

The hunter sighed. “Okay, let’s go. Good luck, Jamie.”

 

“Ditto.” The prophet replied, giving them a salute as Castiel placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and they disappeared into thin air. 

 

***

 

Jamie had all the ingredients for the spell, she knew what to say, what to do. She had everything ready. Now came the hard part: actually performing the spell. It didn’t help that she had to do it while in the same room as an actual freaking demon. Her life really had taken a turn for the weird lately. She picked up the bowl containing the ingredients for the spell, and a slip of paper, which told her what to do and say when performing the spell. The prophet took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst, and opened the door to the dungeon. 

 

She stepped through the doorway, glancing around the room. In the center was a red circle with some symbols she didn’t understand on it, spray-painted to the floor. On top of the circle was a metal chair, and, tied to the chair, was the demon. He looked up at her, his eyes filled black, his brown hair tousled, his face covered in blood. 

 

“Who might you be?” He asked, flashing her a grin. 

 

“Jamie Knight, prophet of the Lord.” She said, turning her back, beginning to carry out the actions required for the spell. 

 

“Nice to meet you, the names Dean Winchester.” 

 

“So I’ve heard,” Jamie responded, still focusing on the spell. 

 

“So, uh, let’s say you untie me and I can take you out for a drink or two?” He gave her a wink and she rolled her eyes. 

 

“Sorry, not really into the black eyes.” 

 

Dean blinked, and suddenly his black eyes melted away to reveal piercing green ones. “Better?”

 

“Oh, and I don’t really like guys. Besides, that angel seemed pretty into you. I wouldn’t want to interrupt whatever little thing you two have going on there.” 

 

“You don’t have to worry about him.” The demon replied. 

 

Jamie rolled her eyes again. “Sorry sweetie, can’t chat right now.” She turned around again and began reciting the words for the spell, most of which Dean didn’t understand or didn’t care about. 

 

“So you’re working with my brother, huh?” He asked, scoffing. “We’ll see how that turns out for you.” 

 

Jamie only shot him a glare and continued the spell. 

 

***

 

“I’m gonna ask you one more time before things get ugly,” the angel snarled, his blade held to the demon’s throat. “Where is Abel?” 

 

“I don’t know, I swear.” His voice squeaked, like a teenage boy. 

 

“You don’t wanna mess with him, trust me,” Sam said, standing next to the angel, his arms crossed. 

 

There was a tense silence as the demon glanced around nervously. Then, Castiel began to grow impatient. He pressed his blade closer to the demon’s throat and gave him an expectant look. 

 

The demon whimpered. “Okay, okay, fine. I don’t know for sure but… there’s a rumor. Some of the higher demons are saying he escaped when Abaddon was trying to take over, a few years ago. But everything was so unorganized, it was chaos, we-we don’t know for sure.”

 

“Where is he now?” Castiel asked. 

 

“No one knows. A few scouts tracked him down to Roseburg, Oregon, knew he lived on the outskirts of town, but none of them ever came back.”

 

Cas turned and glanced at Sam. The hunter shrugged.

 

“That’s all you know?” 

 

“Th-that’s all I know, I promise.” The demon replied, his voice trembling. 

 

The angel quickly slit his throat and turned to Sam, placing his hand on the hunter’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” He said. 

 

In the blink of an eye, they were gone, then reappeared, standing in front of a sign that read  _ Welcome To Roseburg, Oregon!  _

 

Sam looked around, seeing a thick forest on one side of the road he was standing on, and a field on the other. The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly over the mountains far off in the distance. He looked down on the freshly-paved road, seeing Cas laying in the middle of it, coughing violently and trying to catch his breath. 

 

Sam offered the angel a hand, and Cas took it, swinging into a standing position. “Thanks,” He said, his voice strained. 

 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. 

 

“I’m fine, I just-” He paused to cough. “Teleporting is… draining.” 

 

“Do you need a minute?” 

 

“No, I’m- I’m okay. Let’s find Abel.” 

 

***

 

Sam could tell the angel was in pain as he stumbled through the woods, limping, holding a hand to his wound. Sam stopped. 

 

“Are sure you’re okay, Cas?”

 

“I told you I’m fine.”

 

“We can stop if you need to-”

 

“No, I’m fine. This is the last house, if he’s not here we can rest, but-” He paused to cough. “But Dean is running out of time, we don’t have the luxury of resting right now. I can heal myself once we get back to the bunker.” 

 

Sam nodded and continued walking forward. 

 

“Do you think Dean was right? About him needing to die?” Sam’s words came out painfully, hesitantly. 

 

“Sam, he was delusional. He had just almost killed you and then himself, and he was in a dark place. And the Mark- it changes you. I think he was blindsided by everything that was happening. You can’t think like that though, Sam. If you want Dean back, you can’t think like that.”

 

The hunter nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. You’re right, let’s just focus on-on getting him back.” But somewhere in his mind a little voice told him Cas was wrong. He pushed the voice back and kept walking through the forest. 

 

They came across the house, the last one that lay on the outskirts of Roseburg they hadn’t checked yet. It was a classic house, with freshly painted white walls, a white picket fence, a newly bloomed tulip garden in the front yard. 

 

Sam opened the gate, allowing Cas to go through ahead of him. The angel nodded and stepped through, the hunter in tail. They made their way up the porch and stopped at the front door. Castiel knocked on the door, then waited for a response. 

 

“Who is it?” A voice came through an intercom attached to the house. 

 

Sam and Cas exchanged a look. 

 

“My name is Castiel, this is my friend Sam. We need your help.” Cas responded. 

 

“What are you, demons? I killed the last two you sent here.” 

 

“No, we’re… hunters.” Sam said, not thinking it was wise to tell him Cas was an angel. 

 

There was a moment of silence, then the door unlocked and swung open. In the doorway stood a tall, scruffy man. Sam could see the family resemblance. Abel had a long pointed nose, an unkempt grey beard, brown hair speckled with silver, cut short and stiff. His eyes were a bright blend of blue and green. 

 

“How did you find me?” He asked, tilting his head back in a questioning manner. 

 

Sam glanced down to see the long, thin blade he was holding in his left hand, then said: “We’re not here to fight, we need your help.” 

 

“How did you find me?” He repeated. 

 

“We tortured your location out of a demon,” Cas said, pushing his way in front of Sam. “But we don’t have time for chit-chat. Time is running short.” 

 

“What can I do for you?” Abel asked, his tone still suspicious. 

 

Sam hesitated for a second, then responded. “My brother has the Mark Of Cain.”

 

Abel gave him a look. “You boys better come inside,” he moved aside so Cas and Sam could step through the door. 

 

“No time,” Castiel replied, sticking a hand out to block Sam from entering. “We need a way to remove it, and we need it now.” 

 

Abel sighed. “I have a spell that might work, it’s purely experimental, but if you’re really that desperate-” 

 

“Can we use it?” Cas asked before Sam could respond. 

 

“Of course, but be warned. The removal of the Mark will come at a great price.”

 

“We are aware of the cost.”

 

Abel held up a finger, then closed the door and went inside. 

 

Sam turned to the angel. “Cas, are we sure we want to do this? I mean, we don’t even know if the spell will work, and we don’t know what it’ll do to Dean…”

 

“This is all we have, Sam. I don’t care what the cost is, I don’t care what it does. We’ll deal with it afterward. Right now, we’re running low on time and we don’t have any other leads.” Castiel’s tone was dark, his voice low and gruff. 

 

The hunter nodded slowly. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.” 

 

The dark wooden door reopened and Abel emerged, holding a scrap of paper in his hand. “This is everything you should need for the spell.” He handed the paper to Cas, who took it and scanned through the ingredients. 

 

“Thank you, truly. If you need anything-” Sam said. 

 

“You’re welcome. I know how difficult it is to have a brother affected by such… darkness. I wish you both the best of luck.” 

 

Cas didn’t take his time with niceties, he started to walk briskly away from the house, reading the paper Abel had handed him. 

 

***

 

Castiel grunted as the wound closed up, his hand lighting up a bright blue where he touched it to his stomach. Sam turned towards the angel. 

 

“How are we doing?” Cas asked, sitting up and leaning over the table that sat in the middle of the bunker library. 

 

“Good. I got all of the ingredients except one…” He turned the paper that listed the ingredients on it so Castiel could see. He pointed towards the last ingredient on the list. 

 

“A ‘great sacrifice’...” Castiel read it out loud. 

 

Sam sighed and nodded. “I’m not sure how we’re supposed to get that, but… maybe it’s referring to me.”

 

Castiel cocked his head and gave the hunter a confused look. 

 

“Well, whenever Dean has been in trouble, I’ve sacrificed the world for him. Maybe now, I need to sacrifice myself.” Sam explained. 

 

“No,” Castiel said, dismissing the hunter. “That’s not big enough of a sacrifice. Your existence is inconsequential in the grand scene of things.”

 

Sam scoffed. “Thanks.” 

 

“Don’t take it as an insult, you know I would lay down my life for you.” 

 

Sam nodded. “So, what would be a ‘great sacrifice?’”

 

“I think I know.” Castiel looked up at the hunter, his eyes dull and solemn. “My grace.” 

 

“How is that any more of a sacrifice than-”

 

“It’s not just about me. If my grace is gone, if even one more angel dies, heaven will fall. That’s as big a sacrifice as it gets.” 

 

“But, before, when you were dead-”

 

“Heaven was fine, but that was when Lucifer was still alive. He may not have supported God or the other angels, but he was still an archangel and he was still helping to power heaven.” 

 

Sam sighed. “Cas, are we sure about this? We don’t even know if this will work and what you’re talking about doing, it’s-”

 

“Crazy?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sam, your brother is in that dungeon right now, dying. And if we don’t do this, he will die. So unless you have another idea, right here, right now, hand me that blade.” Castiel nodded towards the Angel Blade that rested on the table in front of Sam. 

 

Sam picked up the blade, hesitating, then handed it hilt first to the angel. 

 

Cas grabbed a vial from a nearby shelf and popped it open. He flipped the blade so he was pointing it towards himself, and ran it along his throat, barely piercing his skin. Sam watched his light blue grace flowing from the throat of the angel and into the vial. Cas stopped, leaving just enough grace for him to seal up his throat. He closed the vial and ran his hand over the cut, closing it up. His breath caught in his throat, he felt his knees buckle under him. He propped himself up on the table and coughed.

 

“Cas, are you okay?” Sam asked, his eyes wide. 

 

“I’m fine.” The former angel replied, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m fine.” He repeated, more to convince himself than Sam. “Start the spell. Heaven won’t fall until it’s enacted, until my grace is destroyed. Hurry, Dean doesn’t have much time!”

 

***

 

“Hey boys,” The demon said weakly, lifting his head. 

 

Neither of them responded. 

 

“Another spell, huh?” Dean asked, moving his head to glance at what Castiel was doing. “What’s this one gonna do, turn me into a toad?” He chuckled to himself, but was racked with another round of coughs. 

 

“Nope,” Sam said, turning around. “This one is gonna fix you.” 

 

“Whoopdeedoo.” The demon said, his tone deadpan. 

 

Castiel finished mixing the ingredients to the spell, then removed a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sam. 

 

Sam began reading off the paper, reciting a series of Latin words. As he spoke, Dean felt a searing pain on his forearm, where the Mark of Cain resided. He glanced down, watching it light up a bright red, hot and fiery. The Mark burned hotter and hotter, until he couldn’t take it anymore. The demon could smell his own burning flesh, could see the smoke lifting off his arm and rising into the musty air of the dungeon. He grunted and growled, screaming at the pain. He had never felt anything like it before, he had been tortured in hell, he had died over and over, and still, he hadn’t felt anything this painful, anything this mind-blowingly, scorchingly hot. 

 

He screamed and screamed, watching the smoke rise from his arm, listening to the sizzling sound.  _ Sounds like bacon, _ he thought bitterly. 

 

Sam hesitated when he realized the tremendous amount of pain his brother was in. 

 

“Keep going,” Castiel growled. 

 

“No, Sammy, you don’t even know what this is doing.” The demon begged, his voice weak. 

 

Sam paused, looking towards his brother. He would have stopped the spell altogether, but when he looked at Dean and only saw his empty, unfeeling, black eyes, he knew he couldn’t stop. 

 

His voice shaking, Sam finished the spell, saying the last words with a firm determinedness. A flash of light spread through the dungeon, a scorching heat that engulfed the room. It knocked the hunter and the former angel back, slamming them against the wall. Then, it cleared away. 

 

Sam coughed and stood up, waving a hand in front of his face to push some of the smoke away. He rushed to his brother, who remained in the chair he was tied to, unconscious. Sam glanced towards his right forearm, where the Mark of Cain had once been, and saw only a charred burn in the shape of the Mark. In that moment Sam was sure Dean had been cured. Now, it was just a matter of making sure he was still alive, then turning him human again.  _ Easy as pie _ , Sam thought sarcastically. 

 

***

 

Dean still hadn’t woken up, even though it had been several hours since the spell was enacted. Castiel had assured Sam his brother was still alive, barely. Sam had decided to start the demon treatment a few hours ago, despite Dean’s unstable position, and was almost finished. Even though Dean had yet to wake up, Sam had known he had to start the treatment. After all, if the only Dean he could get back was the demon, all their efforts had been worthless. Sam pulled a syringe, the last one he had, from the case that lay on the table in the dungeon. He walked towards Dean, who still sat slumped in his chair. He held the syringe, which was filled with human blood, up, then turned it down and stuck it into Dean’s arm, pressing down on the plunge. His body shook slightly and tensed up when the blood was injected into his arm, then slumped down again.

 

“That’s it?” Cas asked. 

 

“That’s it,” Sam replied. “That should cure him.” 

 

“If he lives,” Castiel muttered, his voice low. 

 

Cas leaned forward to check the hunter’s pulse. It was slow, barely enough to keep him alive, but still there. Nothing happened for a moment, there was only stillness. 

 

Castiel sank to his knees in front of Dean, staring up at his closed eyes, the dried blood on his forehead, his full lips. The former angel thought he could count his freckles from here, he could see every little detail of the hunter’s face. There was no better sight to Cas, the freckles that littered his face, the scruffy golden-brown stubble that covered his chin, the bright pink of his bruised lips. “Dammit, Dean.” He muttered. He looked down at the cool floor, feeling his lip tremble. His knees ached from kneeling. That never happened when he was an angel, when he carried all the force of God with him. Now, even though he wasn’t an angel anymore, even though he didn’t have all that power, he had his family, and that was enough. Or, at least, it would be if Dean woke up, if the treatment worked. Even though Cas knew it wouldn’t work, knew nothing would happen, he prayed. He prayed everything would be okay, he prayed and hoped. Prayed for Dean back, prayed for his family, for his future. Nothing happened. The only thing that moved in the hollow dungeon was the fan, slowly spinning, casting a cool wind through the room. 

 

Castiel looked up again, at Dean’s still face, then down. He couldn’t stand to look at the hunter, it was too painful. Everything was too painful. His knees throbbed and his head pounded, he was still getting used to being human again. He didn’t think he would ever be used to it.  _ Please don’t let my sacrifice be for nothing _ , he thought desperately. He felt a single tear stream down his face, cool and calm. It dripped down to the cool floor, landing with a soft thunk. 

 

“I thought you didn’t cry, angel.” 

 

Castiel turned his head up. “Dean.” He whispered hoarsely. 

 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, rushing to untie his brother. 

 

Cas looked up at the hunter and watched as his dark black eyes faded away to the bright emerald green he had always known. Cas’ pained and desperate face melted away, and the former angel cracked the beginnings of a smile. It was good to see those eyes again, that face, alive and awake and human.

 

Sam untied Dean, unable to hold back his triumphant smile, and the hunter stood up, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had held him down. “Do you two know what a promise is?” He asked. 

 

“You didn’t think I was gonna let you die,” Sam said, his voice hollow. 

 

Dean sighed, looking down. “What’d it cost?” 

 

“My grace,” Castiel responded solemnly. 

 

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened. “Cas-”

 

“Heaven has… fallen.” Castiel continued. 

 

“Dammit, Cas. I told you I wanted to die.” His voice was strained, his throat in pain from lack of use.

 

“That’s not happening anytime soon,” Sam said. 

 

“You can’t stop me,” Dean said, starting towards the door. 

 

Cas turned around and slammed the hunter against the wall, restraining him, his arm on Dean’s chest. “Watch me.”

 

“Cas, what the hell do you think you’re-”

 

“I may not be an angel anymore, but I can still kick your ass.” He growled. 

 

“Cas, let me go.” Dean struggled. 

 

“No.” 

 

There was silence for a moment. Dean glanced down at Cas’ hip, where he wore his blade holster. Before Cas could realize what was happening, Dean had lunged forward and removed the Angel Blade from his holster. He stepped back, pointing the blade end-first towards his chest. “I’m sorry Cas.” He breathed. 

 

Before Dean could do anything, Cas was on him. He wrestled with the hunter for a moment, but Dean had been tied to a chair for weeks, so his instincts weren’t exactly sharp. Cas quickly disarmed him, sending the blade clattering to the floor at Sam’s feet. Sam quickly picked it up, watching Cas slam Dean into the wall again. 

 

“Dammit, Dean.” The former angel growled.

 

“Cas, I don’t want to hurt you again.” 

 

“The only way you could hurt me is if you hurt yourself.” Suddenly, Cas could hear Dean’s words all those weeks ago, his freshly black eyes and his lips turned into a sadistic snarl.  _ You gave it all up for me and I didn’t even care.  _ “I sacrificed heaven itself for you. Don’t let that sacrifice be for nothing.” 

 

Something about the way Cas said those words made Dean realize all that was at stake, made him truly see how much he meant to the former angel. Most importantly, it made him remember how much Cas meant to him. 

 

“Cas, I-I can’t-“ 

 

“Dean, you have exactly one reason to live right now. There are people out there, souls out there, who need you. There are millions of souls that have been cast from heaven and they need your help.” 

 

Dean didn’t say anything for a minute, his face softened, and he looked down. “You’re wrong Cas, I don’t have a reason to live.” 

 

“Dean-”

 

“I have two.” He interrupted the former angel. 

 

Cas hesitated for a moment, not sure what Dean meant or where he was going. 

 

Dean grabbed the former angels tie, pulling him into a kiss. In that moment, Castiel understood. He clutched the hunter’s jacket, his knuckles white, pulling him into an embrace. He kissed Dean back, feeling the warm touch of the hunter’s lips, the welcoming heat of the gentle touch. Finally, he knew Dean, his Dean, was back. Cas felt nothing in that moment but the warm embrace, the passionate touch, the feeling of home. Meanwhile, the angels heard the tortured and panicked screams, the pleas of the souls fallen to earth, but Castiel only heard silence. For once, silence. There was no better sound in the world.


End file.
